Wings at the Heart of the Universe

Mother was born from the roots of a sacred tree,  
crawling, searching for the surface.  
Were she liquid, she would swim,  
dissolving into the veins of blood,  
her screams carving the earth's arteries.  

When love finds her,  
she stays loyal to the wind---  
blind to the map of ancient men,  
licking the corridor of time that still will  
and will go mad before the beginning.  

She split her own heart,  
God and she parted ways,  
the sky sang a heavenly hymn,  
while the drought angel trembled  
at the edge of his trumpet.  

Should the devil's gate soon swing open,  
blue fire will rage,  
about to spill into the crimson blood of your child.  

To estrangement, I exist---  
devouring another self,  
identity crippled, without limbs,  
a crawling beast in the mirror.  

Please, do not leave.  
I am not ready to be burned  
by the thirst of the true devil,  
gnawing at my faith  
before I even believe.  

Eroded, dragged, shattered,  
where are my scattered pieces?  
Please, just for a moment, see me.  
I need a billion raven eyes,  
a serpent's belt, glass porridge, a swan's tongue.  

Mother cannot fly,  
she fastened her wings around my heart's core.  
Her skin she offered to the sun god,  
her tears she surrendered to the mountains,  
to the ghostly swamps,  
and her eyes---  
only to the absolute blindness.  

Forgive me, forgive me.  
You must place your freedom  
into a loyalty  
that knows neither beginning nor end.

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