Moving along a surface of glacial idyll
Motion and thought fossilized
Ceaseless spiraling the only movement
In an infinite procession
Of decrepit intentions

Layers of events sucked dry of significance
Piled up in the vast cemetery of the soul
Because obscurity must be vanquished

The horror of great distances threatens this
Calm
It doesn't matter if blood will be drained
To the last drop
These eyes observe from above
Through a veiling sheet of ash
No way out

On the seventh day. something moved

Wounds that have never bled now infected
Black as if penetrated by the cosmic void
But teeming with living palpitations
Worms that eat up matter from the inside

Nights become days, trees grow red
Beauty reappears, reemerges from a vortex
Given up for dead
Beauty, mutated, shaped by the grasping
Claws of a harpy
Devotedly disfigured
With a puckered smile of scarring

Beneath unknown skies
Its bloody caravan departed
Never to be halted

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