This Is It
I rush and tumble, falling forth, falling in depths,
Accompanied by the bursting tune of melodies long forgotten.
Alas invisible I creep behind each desirable and place my touch,
I lull or fulminate them into themselves.
Dressed with feathers, pearls and ivory,
I conceal the fire beneath.
To remain invisible,
Is what is required of me.
Mountains, plains of yellow wheat,
Blue jays in trees,
And finesse red wine,
Compose what I deem my transcendence.
My knowing gaze has noticed all,
Every nuance, every mind altering passion.
I’ve wiped away the distressing tears of my own fault.
I’ve nurtured the lost lives of those succumbed to me.
For I am it; the great despised, the great adored.
Ceases only my touch, but beneath,
The charcoal rocks and pools of grey tears,
Their created idyll remains.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2012
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