Fury

Eyes dripping of blood and fire,
starhair rushes its whirls of seduction
across your indigo shroud -
enduring an insatiable fever
that whetted exotic appetites
and a manly desire to thrust your soul
into the font of bespoken aeons
and to rise one time more -

reassembled, galvanized by primordial
forces, reborn through the rite de passage
of a new empyrean hermeticism -

and destroy the black shapeless forms
lurking inconspicuously in the high vacuum.

Behold now these lumps of carrion marching
in a sullen pilgrimage towards the gates of
oblivion: neck broken, spine humped in shame
and terror, vile casualties of their own
indoctrination of haunting nightmares,
sentenced to eternal torment
under the stark scrutiny
of bland nonentity.

The undying fire raging in your chest: their bane.

Dusting the remaining embers of stars and newly
formed planetary system into stark penal colonies
made from dark matter...

Airing the canvas of space-time, trawling a spree
of a trillion galactic cobwebs into the maws of
rotting suns, collapsed under the weight of their
own pomposity.

Yours alone now is the tender flame of memory,
Your spirit is the murmuring breath of the cosmos.

Neither dead nor alive, your body has sunk into
into this inky bog to mummify,
to immunize against the the vernal charlatan,
whose disparaging whims and artfulness,
made you jibe between a beggar's loan and
intoxicating yet untenable raptures,
disabled character and virtues,
to pursue futile endeavours,
to colour a midget existence.