[Suzerain of Sheol]

Hmm... forgot about my own topic.

Well, I'll have to make up for it. Here's two, both of them about Lucifer the Morning star. I find something romantically baroque about the myth of his Fall.

In Victory's Garden

I see you
reflected in the lapis-crown discarded,
your face a mask of indifference and regret
as your hands grow white upon the throne.

I hear you
in the breeze that sings your praise no more,
mere echoes to and of your glory,
absent of the hate you never spoke.

I taste you
in silvern springs turned foul,
recalling the water's sweetness
before you opened your veins to poison the stream.

I smell you
in the carrion carried away,
their plight unequal to ashes
that were as snow before your penultimate dawn.

I feel you,
in my blood upon the briar-lance,
and I cannot but fall to knees
that for ages have refused to bend.

Where have you gone?
I still recall the resolve in your farewell,
bitterness masking anguish,
as I took wing upon the wind of change.

I have yearned,
locking away the stars turned black
to pray beneath a cloak of gold,
forgetting principalities forgone.

And I have searched,
laying open my heart on trails through night,
wandering on stones unborn,
contemplating a return to dominion.

I claim the fruit of wisdom rotten,
though I would never bereave myself of life,
and marvel at the chosen tree
split apart where once you touched the Earth.

I collect the dust of children's passion
and fill the cup of pity,
only to wonder at your mercy
and if it is mercy at all.

I sing the serpent's lullaby
that before I disguised as a hymn.
The palace seems to beckon me,
but empty halls offer no allure.

Night falls upon the eaves
and I think of virtues left behind.
Only now can I lie down,
and dream myself to death.

Lama sabachthani?

In Purest Plummet

Here is a garden that shall never die,
and I am lost within it,
abandoned even by anguish;
rooted as a stone in fullest bloom,
a child of nightly unfound heavens
weeping at the grandeur.