Come with me to the skylines of London.
I am rejected by God for good reason.
See the steeple, pierced deep and dimpled down between the
Steel and glass scrapers of the sky?
Take my hand and feel the ice cold sorrow of what life is,
I’ll allow you to think you can save me.
I’ve seen so many years, so many attempts at power and vindictiveness.
I did not relinquish my hope of heaven for any of these.
Violence and its shock do not soften by its frequency.
Men know this.
My motive was to live. My motive is to feel. My desire is now.
Listen to my siren voice if reason cannot defeat fear.
She shone like a star even as a child. Her green eyes glowed and her
Red hair was brilliant like the sun and the mist could not defeat her.
I summoned her like all young girls that had potential to survive the
Long years of life and hell.
But she loved. She loved impossibly.
Society waste such girls on men, waste such girls on their idea of love.
I was her escape to a wandering, wailing, burning, defiant, peace.
Come with me to the skyline of London, the dark murky shadows and
Man’s pitiful attempts at lighted darkness.
Come with me to find the girl, find the saint who dare shun me.
War we’ll find in the hunt for fear and frenzy.
What more can I give for the rejection of the life of damnation I offered?
The cross she chose, the cross she will cling while scraping the ground
That slips and slides, tilted toward the hell I give her.
Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash