Thursday, December 1, 2011


Cataclysmic rhythms of destruction reign supreme
Angels cry and angels fall
Into the waste of the unshepherded masses
Tongues on fire and hearts of wood
Ignite and blaze burnt orange into the dusty sky
There are no stars and the moon is dead
A fluttering veil concealing a brick wall
The priestess, she weeps
She is lost
She might be dead.

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