Winter Sun
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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