The face is broke against the wheel,
diamond shard peppered flesh.
Now bloody pulp, once squeezed to life
between thighs of painful birth,
between creation of hope and the damnation of men.
Lips as blue as Iceberg Oceans
cannot one single word now form,
not one goodbye, no gratitude nor regret,
no moment remembered,
nor one remaining to forget.
Yet some sweet Mothers final kiss will brush against its brow,
a child’s unknowing memory
might reminisce somehow,
how once it held the world encompassed in a smile
before ever it was vacant before ever quite so vile.
Shimmering under kindling embers glow with fiery promise,
stoked from lazy slumber they crackle into flame.
Beneath the hollow sky a fine white shroud descends,
vapour trails glide eastward as if searchlights of the Gods.
In moments so peaceful I hope the world sleeps on,
the Sun to lose its wings the waking bells to never ring,
while timber fills where once it stood with scented smoke the soul of wood,
to offer back unto the stars the source of all that’s never ours.