Esen

And in the anger of her living she gasped,
held tight and sighing,
open illusions dancing free
all in ultimatum the angels sing,
cream filled is the suger popping into the rain
open harvest thunder
coarse upon the grain,
sifted through wings
shaken in the light
billows of smoke come rising
taunted upon her wings this night,
moist are the lips
gentle is her gain
Haunted within moonlight
caught off guard by her rays,
silver is the scorn
golden is the son
caught within her grasp
too tired to lay in the morn,
Here the harkened sentinals
galloping upon abused feet
she gathers her strength and dignity
bringing the chills of her spine
lingering upon her heat,
I know her laughter
I felt it tug at broken chains
she is a mercy of freedon
with all of the world to substain,
she is magestic hued in green
her torch sullen yet bright
all the wisdom of the broken fools
fuled by her crimson might,
and yes the rivers flow like sand dampened by red
her soldiors carry the message
that compassion is seldomly shallow bred,
and with her torch she tortures thee
to go upon the hungered and slain
today she is my lady and by night I am no longer afraid,
Go forth my sweet harbinger of reason
bring your wrath
to quench and fury,
because no matter how tried or true is thee
we are still at the mercy of this worlds jury,
Its your compassion and dignity that will set us all free
I stand to touch the laces of the sandles upon the feet of Lady Liberty.

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~Esen
What is everyone doing in my room?

vonstalhein

Crikey, it's an epic! Or an opus. The distinction escapes me. Could it be an Opus of epic proportions? I'm sure it could.

I especially liked the 'red' bit.

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No Win No Fee

Esen

Thank you, thats very kind of you

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~Esen
What is everyone doing in my room?

losthellhound

Love the depth of the imagery.. thank you

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"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death