Pagodas are not conceived in a day
Seraphim have never slept in the hay
No connections up there
With what unicorns wear
Herald angels will not play ‘til they pray
Her husband wanted everything blah.
He loved tans, grays, and whites in the raw.
She was sad for a few weeks when he passed.
But then someone said “It is your chance, Mrs. Rast.”
She started out small with two colors – red and blue.
They boded well, so she added gold and silver too.
Her house is filled with colors that she loves; it doth glow.
Heavenly husband says wistfully, “I wish this had always been so.”
Sins will eat you up and spit you out,
they seduce you and kill you till theres nothing left.
You think you know crazy? You haven't seen anything yet.
Death has it's sights set on me, taunting me till I give in.
In the dead of night I wish to feel the comforting prick of
paint till the sin flows red and rast set on a course of destruction,
visiting your desolent past. I feel calm again, peaceful, almost
as still as death until the rays bring back their wicked pain like
most sins!
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