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Limbs
The texture of the soul is a liquid that casts a vermillion flood
From a wound carved as an oath; it fills the river bank a sanguine fog
These arms were meant to be lost! Hacked, severed and forgotten
The texture of time is a whisper that echoes across the flood
It's hymn resonates from tree to tree, through every sullen bough it sings
These boughs were said to be lost! Torn, unearthed and broken
Earth to flesh, flesh to wood, cast these limbs into the water
Flesh to wood, wood to stone, cast this stone into the water...
The water pours its embracing arms around the stone
Decay drips from the uniquet void where the ice forms, where life ends
The stone is by the crimson flood, swallowed
The red ride beyond the ebon wound, contorted
My sacrifice bids farewell in this river of memory... a wave to end all time
Red birds escape from my wounds and return as falling snow
To sweep the landscape; a wind haunted, wings without bodies
The snow, the bitter snowfall
You wish to die in her pale arms, crystalline, to become an ode to silence
In the soul of a mountain of birds, fallen
The cascading pallor of ghostless feather
The snow has fallen and raised this white mountain on which you will die
and fade away in silence
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