infinite halls shelter pulses
of fear written lullabies chanted
by muses impersonating glassed saints;
mirrored palaces crack into questions
within the play of obsessions.
"Are you the prey
or the hunter?"
silent orchestras reminisce of
sun bathed memories wept by
delicately voiced strings and keys;
lone virgin soldier, holy martyr
sings tears evaporating to transparency.
"I'm a hunter.
colossal hands smack birds
from stale breezes into gardens
of disintegrating flowers left unnamed;
fragmented dreams become fallen stars
enshrouded by licked dry carcasses.
"Who has fallen!"
