blood crystalized in a beautiful flower. Hyacinth demands something more than adoration. read and mourn for what was lost.


Hyacinth

The sky is alit with drunken light
Colour plays a timely change over the field,
Ruby is touched by green, come, see;
Today all of us will play Apollo.

We are born to live only to die again,
Let's place a foot over the black swan and judge the world
Remember its agony that talks
A single Hyacinth blooms on the dying symphony.

Rich, thick blood is throbbing through the veins,
Blood that is about to spring abloom;
Its the Flower of Blood that we are seeking
The last thread of torn music in perpetual gloom;

It matters not if a painter draws a flower,
Or a sculpter curves it on stone;
Or a gardener marvels at it
It is a beauty for blood what is always shown.

Whenever a being dies, a flower blossoms
The eternal debt is paid to quench its thirst
The scarlet, nude and sublime, devoid of all cover
Naked sacrifice on the altar of a slain youth.




Poetry by KissofNemesis
Read 729 times
Written on 2007-03-07 at 10:05

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