The Moon Dressed In White

Red wine for the moon dressed in white

And for the majestic fowls that were not black scorn ravens

But, that of divine doves fooled by the first sight of their own shadows

The birds of paradise

Which harbors over the edges of my fragile life

As if they were the angels of death waiting to claim my soul

Therefore, when I look up to heaven and see their feathers slipping from the sky

I image a volver of forsaken spirits dancing in the sun

Intertwining forever in the roots of heaven’s discord

But always reaching for the doors of their own salvation

A translation similar to the fallen puzzle pieces that were once etched in stone 
There only to engrave a crucified parallel premonition

Perceiving vivified visual visions peerless to a decaying world

Thus having time stand in the ruins belonging to those

Which have deemed themselves as intellects

With a vine of dissolution found wanting within the holy halls of judgement

As roses bloom beneath the footsteps of a sacred virgin

Lost hymns of three kings and of seven stars shall revive a dying Lazarus

The biblical shell of light that lingers upon my window…

Although, some would say part take of the devil’s fruit

Because the peach is so much sweeter

Yet, my eyes have been fixated towards those moon-lit humbling clouds

…A trifling thing I suppose… 

~ Paradise's Poet ~