Page Eighteen

Lies in the space between heaven and crust,

Ripped back to life, from ashes and dust.

Death's denial, births crystalline revival,

Springs a child, of Wrath not Lust.

Grain to membrane,

Sand to hand,

Bodily reclaim,

Destino Klan'd.

Round white light, black sparks dance,

Split by nature, bound by chance.

A boy with no home, grounded

Grown, beneath hallowed glow, surrounded

Grimly reaped to sew, hell hounded.

If you're looking for a show

A little birdy goes: found it.

Sandstorm swarms to reborn form,

"saved" be the word masking the scorn.

From peaceful abyss, was body torn

Forlorned torture, with a side of popcorn.

No crown thorned, nor devil horned toy,

Stood petrified boy, in obscurity's thickness,

A mind, unable to define what kin is,

Plays organ, rewind zombies kind business.

HE'S ALIVE! Near and far bare witness.

What have we done?

Sins so far beyond forgiveness.

Repaired verde glare stared, empty and scared,

Despaired blue face, black inked, pink haired.

Beware impaired, jury, judge undeclared,

Hath no fury like a truth dared shared.