Σάββατο, 29 Ιανουαρίου 2011

There are no songs left to sing



There are no songs left to sing
No poems left to write
The stars avert their gaze in a sky
Blacker than the bottom of a frying pan
Wondering in deep disgust
What world is this that sleeps but never dreams?
Where are the poets and the bards?
And the lovers who once sang praise
To our beauty and charms?
Where is Selene our pregnant lady of light
On whose silver belly men pondered
The myriad mysteries of life?    
Snuffed are the beacons in the heavens above
The doom-mongers and the naysayers of the world
Speak the truth while the truth-sayers
utter blasphemous lies in the ears
Of foolish men
The crimson tide roars drenching
The quick sands of drowning innocence
Choking on its own damned fury
While cries of Kyrie eleison go unheard
In the raging abyss of darkness above
No god claims the human beast
Who rears its gruesome head
And dreams no more.

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