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She wished to hear his voice
(chords and dreaming).
.
Lamenting the floriferous brightness of a mortal,
She spilled an obscurity forged of ravaging sorrow.
.
(Hoping it would drive his soul to noble regret
That he would return a shrieking miracle — pleading for peace.)
The boy’s voice carried honey from a pale land,
One the heirs of divinity never once partook of.
“Where did you get this?”
The behemoths of charred mosaic demanded.
“This voice of curious, sweetened substance.
Tell us where you retrieved it.”
A little crow with a violet scar stood among them all, proud.
Treading daintily past a goblet harbouring pallid ambers,
She feared not those warped kibuthans of chaos;
.
(Though an outcast among them, she lost her frigid tremor.)
“A gift from my dearest friend;
T’was bestowed to me — this ethereal sweetness,
A delicious pith not found in the world,
But in a heart as large as a vibrant world…”
She wished to hear his voice
(hope and blabber).
.
Lamenting the painful brightness of a mortal,
She vomited a plague to quell the folly that maddened her.
.
(Hoping her somaless essence would feel light
But the dregs seized her forever — he would not come.)
There was a conclave held after the banquet,
Curtained in the marshed meat of Viscereykur moons.
.
The lopsided bahamuts gathered in parchedness
(Lazulefkoi brimmed from their saliva, grinning out orpheculian saturns).
.
“We will invade the Pale Land
Dressed in mortal skin.
For mortals cannot tell themselves from gods,
And neither gods from mortals;
This cannibalistic burlesque of calinged, boiled mimicry —
Shall be our path to the ambrosia we seek.”
Becoming mortals of a spindled likeness,
immortal in their mortality,
They filthed the soil with glints of patterning,
And people drew from them and called them ‘knowledge’.
.
Amongst the mingled rabble now, united in sinewed corruption,
Did fester chimeras, of an aphelion-bodied liturgy —
An omnipresent scheme to harvest; Idyllium.
The faceless became priests, and a formula found.
(That their obfuscated atelier be Idyllium forever.)
.
Mortals or gods now knew not the small crow,
But remembered a frightful eagle, pouring on and onto it
Their putrid grandeur.
.
“We will not be thin but be coalesced—“
“—as {Honey} spoken of by the mighty bird.”
(The crow with the violet scar
Was left alone.
What had she done wrong?
To no longer taste of honey —
And kiss her beak to it.)
The sweetness that never was became nevermore.
.
Fervently entangled in the blemish of theorem
Were his fruits and boughs—
—yumekanjō and bile—
—the kiss of honey to a beak—
.
Burst into the goblet of pallid ambers.
She wished to hear his voice.
.
Lamenting the kind brightness of Ruu,
She feared both death and life.
The caustic kismet of their twining —
And chased it, therefore.
(‘Perhaps—
If I was only a raggedy black crow,
Small and insignificant,
I could have sung with him forever.’)