Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Flight of the High Priestesses

She flees,
runs to the red valley.


High priestesses,
antimony in her hand,
blood stains on her long flowing robes.
She has fled from the bleeding ship,
which lied wrecked on a pregnant sea.


She crosses,
the broken bridge that flowed over the,
still water.

the water called sacred.

In the stone wonder,
the image stands still.

Back in the blueness,
the silvery images of fleeting moisture,
the surreal thought,
drunk with the fruit of the clouds and the air;
the smelly earth rises to the sarcastic sun.

The jewels form the womb of the empty space,
hangs ubiquitously,
gesturing few inanimate emotions.
Unknown the the happiness below.

the happiness that saw,
visage of pink tears.