Friday, October 23, 2009

Minotaur.

He's so beautiful,
she said,
as I lay dying on the
tiled floor
and the shadow that he cast
dark and long
was the door in to which
she stepped
- an under world
passage to
God
knew where.

And his reassuring baritone
echoed as lava
throughout the caverns
of my inadequacy
as I rolled
(too late)
to try and ecape
the Red Light
and Heat
of a new born
Trust.

(here Time breathes
ever so slowly
as I lie on my back
and stare at the gaping
nothing...)

A blink.

The blood leaves my body.

A blink.

The furnace boils
and troubles
claustrophobic
around me

and

the blood leaves my body

and everything stretches

fake plastic
elastic
grief
a puzzled and
troubled mind
(childish, Billy, I know)

but necessary I suppose

and if I move my arms slightly
I form an Angel
painted on a dark stone floor
until
she comes
that one
to stand tall

place her finger on my lips

and gently
(awkwardly) whisper,

"quiet now,
nothing needs to be said,

this painting

alone

is beauty enough
..."

I sigh
and lift my head

and the rumble of the Bull

becomes
nothing

but a cold and
distant
grunt.

These Caves...

I almost smile
as I realise,

You left your treasure
in

These Caves.

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