Forest

Like the swaying of boughs in the soft autumn breeze
Life resembles the being of forests of trees
In the womb of the mother where the foetus grows strong
I praise the evil father in this unholiest of song

Where the wolves scoff at light on the hilltop of night
As they howl at the moon to rise spectre of life
In the wintry fog during hacks of the scythe
The wind blows lamented in pains of all writhe

As the seraphim sing in spite of the demon
The banshees are dancing in joy of their freedom
And the vampires rise from the grave to be fed
Sucking delights from suspension of head

Listen to the wailing sky and garner each and every lie
For truth is not in possession of fault… gather your notions
And leave ‘fore the dark starts to revolt

As the misted grounds of forests that surround
Seep blood from deceased of a million years round
And past life is brought back with a spell of attack
The forest reaps havoc and sweeps all and crack

Continued on from Song of Songs
Bite the fruit that to serpent belongs
Thou tongue is true, to God art few
My tortured soul ferments in rue

In Genesis lies are strewn
Beneath starry night where light is moon
When winds will roar over ocean’s shore
And the lover’s vow is not to whore

Cherub fights the fire, unto every mortal pyre

Colliding visions of diverse decisions
Between the sounds of deep confusions
My heart lacks the strength to carry blood
From artery to disinterred flood

Where flesh is rot and bone is sand
All in one holy command
Power imprisons living-deads’ souls…