I stretch angel-wings which for a time were no longer mine.
I rise from the slab where the corpse had lain, unburied, by self contorted... in an unholy mime.
White-wearing-Black... Black-wearing-White... unsure... it hath long gathered dust, there-lain, my forgotten halo.
Shedding dead skin, the grave cloth, seeking a call forth, the same, I raise up my wretched fellow.
Give ME into the hands of Omniscient craft, that would retain me as work afresh... in a fine art of the uN-comprehended.
I think ME ready to be recast, reforged... maybe even to the ME that was by ME undone... and there might my story be ended.
No comments:
Post a Comment