cacao-saturday

The lines and planes of travel were worn to the bone, The wind whistled through, exhaling one single groan, Ophelia noted that the world smelt of petrichor, She hoped she would not have to go very far, Down the path to the right the masks would appear, Wearing the faces of the creatures from the world of the drear, Though when she sees them only tears begin, Tell me she cried, where does a heart grow within, One creature with the mask of wolf and child, Stepped forward to scold her quite mild, He said Let me take you back to the house of rain, All other creatures stood in shock, expecting in vain, For the wolf to stop this useless

The beasts are waiting for the violent gold dawn So that they may rise up and sing their awful song They enter the gates of a soul without asking And set to the task of burning and basking In the memories of ones soul thoroughly Before one can howl in dread and fury Then the biggest beast drags in the perfect deceitful articulation But none other cares, for they find it to be ones own fascination This beast kills the birds of ones loose heart strings And none shall stir, for they find them to be useless beings These birds, however, once knew the meaning of the lies Before one could be there, the feathers plummet from the skies The