And for the majestic fowls that were not black scorn ravens
But, that of divine doves fooled by the first sight of their own shadows
The birds of paradise
Which harbors over the edges of my fragile life
As if they were the angels of death waiting to claim my soul
Therefore, when I look up to heaven and see their feathers slipping from the sky
I image a volver of forsaken spirits dancing in the sun
Intertwining forever in the roots of heaven’s discord
But always reaching for the doors of their own salvation
A translation similar to the fallen puzzle pieces that were once etched in stone
There only to engrave a crucified parallel premonition
Perceiving vivified visual visions peerless to a decaying world
Thus having time stand in the ruins belonging to those
Which have deemed themselves as intellects
With a vine of dissolution found wanting within the holy halls of judgement
As roses bloom beneath the footsteps of a sacred virgin
Lost hymns of three kings and of seven stars shall revive a dying Lazarus
The biblical shell of light that lingers upon my window…
Although, some would say part take of the devil’s fruit
Because the peach is so much sweeter
Yet, my eyes have been fixated towards those moon-lit humbling clouds
…A trifling thing I suppose…
~ Paradise’s Poet ~
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