Fury

Shall I gather the liquid centuries into my body

and renounce these petty rules

as but the artificial stepping stones to grace

who is now less than genius

now less than

gods,

weather-beaten, lying on the skies,

grave or granted. Shall I

transcend these fools to riches

that do not wear,

for they are far above

the rains and winds, far

even above their gods

tried and untrue on thrones.

 

I am that daemonic light

painting the gates of glory

with blood furious and eternal,

the chaos of the ancient world

and more.

07/14/2015

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada