A whole hearted thought of blind passion,
wrought in awe blissfulness of one’s innocence,
makes it a full throttled winged voyage,
a rather bad choice for one’s diseased mind.
And as them colourful plagued humanoid birds,
whose flights were ever cursed by their own lust;
They sing of nothing at all !
but to write in blood,
and in pain,
and to dream the unachievable dream,
of those who never came.
Was it not passion that led oneself here, however ?
Tis’ madness to think one would find broken angels in the sky.
How else could oneself die ?
to forget one’s own sins of love,
to ease one’s deteriorated soul ?
"One need only to demand.", they said.
And as the crippled angels approach,
their mouths dripping of red saliva,
their bodies entangled in a black mist,
they chew one’s flesh and bones,
and sing a sorrowful song:
for their hunger is eternal,
and your life is but gone.
Just another voyage through endless thoughts.