if Earth is purgatory, may I stoically enjoy the flails

Heaven on a cloud of jazz sweeping syncopation endearing melody of sweet, sweet love that embraces, passionately turns out into twirling intoxication well past limits of inebriation pure sound all around lifting and blessing, gently caressing, carried above that mess on the ground If Heaven could be my home or barroom of my own devising at peace in low light on a strong wooden floor dancing at one with the souls I adore while a band of the grandest of jazz troubadours plays on

if Earth is purgatory, may I stoically enjoy the flails

sickly, fever vision
slow to remember action
whining in a corner
never seeing the Archer
guiding or the rainbow
calling from that window
We once called to vision
cry to see your anger
pitiful and collared
primped in cold and silver
Who are we to mourn you?
So reviled and tattered
that our vision barely sees us
We hope as if that mattered
retreat in pleasant manners
and expect you to believe
in some envisioned chance of promise
not destined to lie broken
trod upon by wrathful demons
drunk on hate and blood

if Earth is purgatory, may I stoically enjoy the flails

libramoon

Joined July 2008

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

a spectral morality play

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