Monday, September 26, 2005
near where the black rose blooms,
alarm bells sound,
like heartbeats.
cacophony of noise and the thumping of drums.
slain beasts strewn across magnificent boulevards,
on the rot, and vengeful relations remain, trampling.
on escort he,
much of the scenes did see.
in relative peace and calm, was he,
blind to the sights of visions of death,
snuffed, not sniffing the air of rampage.
to a monastery, the party led,
a monument of silence and solace.
young maidens in spirits gay,
running across, making game. out rushed
an abbot, as how one would look, and with him came
cacophony of noise and thumping of canes.
much tears on the ground it paves,
the lovely taste of those not slain.
come forth, indignant tears of virgins we'd taste,
come, come, for the gang would have to make haste.
relentless sun, red, punishing.
a calm face of a little angel,
an indiscriminating smile, from young life,
drops of mercy gush from the day sky.
barren fields of desolute produce,
in isolation, near where the black rose blooms.
