Winter Sun

Eyes stapled shut

Discarded the utopian peace

Build mounds of dirt

With growths protruding your concrete

Murderously

Divine perception no longer received

Expatriate

Displace

Deliver them

Bleeding on sodden ground won't feed it

Fate in question, written in charcoal handfuls

The poorest wept for you

In their pits of mud and sick

As your tarnished their homes

Anchored to falling steps at the seat ring clearly

Throne room empty

Mortified

For no true son of Adam may be a son of mine

No ladder, no steps

No angels

A kingdom gutted

The flood will come

In molten bone and shapes of hatred

Molten bone and shapes of hatred

Your homeward journey has no ending

The gates stay locked

Decepted by no serpent, born forth from the heart of their purest seed

No tears grow roots to reach on high