Tragedy, Blood-wpt patters of Eden within my dreams. Mors iauna vitae!

Requiem-aeternam dona eis, Domine. Whispering chois within the dark.



I lay as dead, my graven dreams as memories, of the enchanted garden

As the dark is creeping through my coffin sleep, with a sour perfume

the putrid stench of withering flesh-wheeping



Once bewildering bright, in Elysian bloom, the garden stood vast, as an Arcadian dream

but chaos arose with malicious intent, to smother the orchads with grim eerie veils

Petrified angels, dead featherless black, fell as overriped fruits from their haven

to drown as sinners, in sulphur steam drenched

in the damp bloodless vein of Phlegethon-Bath!

Sculptured to be...



Marble angels of melancholy, statues of stone by my grave, as sentinels sobbing

with wings draped in frost, for heavenly life they crave.



The midwinter storms to scatter the leaves, thin and brittle as ice

as stars upon my grave, diaphanous pale, a bouquet of frostbitten flowers

Transparent, melting as the anthems of death, the poems I've written are fading

Like my funeral wreath, the weave of dreams, forgotten and frozen to ice



Pelaline jewelry, as stars in the snow, to embelish the wintery embrace

embedded in darkness, tenebrous haze. I sleep beneath their glimmering gaze



Over my grave as a spring serenade, flowers fortorn within darkness

The garden of galaxies frozen to frost. The orchards of Eden by roses and thorns

overgrown, as the memories-of a landscape forgotten to sprout.

Withering beaty to vanish in patterns of withering dust-in oblivion lost



Warm I lay in the sheets of the earth, in the dust of the withering garden.

Behind the shieod of snowfall I hide-delifed-as God of the grievous Eden



Leviathan coils from the shadow