Piercing luminous light beats down upon my brow
a constant presence to a never broken vow.
to Mother with your distant cusion.
who swallows macabre flesh
after giving birth to flies a buzzin'.
do you miss days of old and their worship
from heathens past laid to rest in
beneath Mother's ever welcoming breast?
or are we no more than your eternal chore?
we so few of years when death our only promised due draws near.
that you dare not one glance
lest you fall by chance
for one of blood and flesh.
still I wonder, are we not blessed?
To be so intimate with death?
for every morning we shall know
is (?) certainly now a promise
and furthermore astonish
Therefore you must pay homage
Because everything is all the more beautiful
(Seems to be unfinished)
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