Creation of unholy nature,
she was there
and writhing like the joy in her marrow
had bled through her skin
and left her detatched
but twisting.

She made her song with the breaking of bone
and the bending of cartilidge
smooth until splintered to burst through her scales,
this reptillian angel
not fallen
thrown.

Sin against nature
dying with every last breath
and squirming soundlessly
to berate the silence in through your ears-
her screams were too cold
and God had no mercy left for this one broken child.

Eden had left not one vacancy.

Frozen early morning to the pavement
there her eyes still flitted.
Bolts of excrutiation jutted through her veins
like mice being pushed through glass tubing.
The pain wouldn't ease
and her tears were solid before they descended,
clear like panes of glass
denying her the small comfort of shutting her eyes
to the glaring sun.
It rose again relentlessly
on this spectacle of conjured sin
that never wished to be this way...

The white ones stared blindly
and folded their wings.
They looked to God
and said nothing.

11/20/2003

Author's Note: On the spots are just impromptu poems that start with an line and no real idea where it'll go. These will either go directly into my Thoughts Bits and Ramblings Folder or in the Library, then there. Enjoy.

Posted on 11/20/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia