The Fallen

From the gables of a lost time
our forefather’s have nurtured death
in life
concerned with material knowledge
to work the wounded earth–
our mouths filled with acid
recuperated with a crown;
metals used for currency
rather then to cure–
towards the towers that rise into forbidden
heavens–
our desires bespoken to the
darkness of cancers;

stars fallen in our repressed
states
regressed into stories with uninspired
demons
possessing our present and
futures
we long for a past hidden in our
blood; the way we sing
and play–contemplating
our regrets–
our lusts; our greed; and self-splendor–

we have abandoned the forests
for lonely rooms with walls
that reflect our inner worlds
and yearnings
to create
and to destroy.

Brian Trota

Image: jplenio