The Sprigs and Spirit of Sistine -8
Transfixed by the thunderstorm of raining thorns
I taste the violet vapor that rises as smooth spirit
while my sensitive gaze garners generations of grief,
for those that follow the Savior must suffer like the Savior
and so they shall, feel the iron of violent institutions
their sacrifice will be spectacular
amid emperors and paupers alike,
on my seat of Delphic dreams
divine light washes my fertile face
blond tresses wave from under the hood
of my cobalt cloak, my lap draped in glowing gold,
I hold unborn history in my hand,
my cherubs exhaust themselves
on the years foreshadowed...
J.A.B.
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2017
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