Hands rise to the surface
Side sweeping rivers of mud
The chosen ones, resurrected
Under the twilight’s pale magic,

Bodies unearthed by the mutterings
Of shamans huddled in their huts
Stealing essence and shards of
Colours from the heavenly stars,

Graves split like earthquakes,
Aftershocks shaping reality, moulding
Its thick shell in steady hands,
Desperate figures claw the fabric

Of the earth, dragons emerging
From dens, safety now thrown from
Nest to mortar, angels perched in marble
Shadow the movements of the dead,

Encased in smooth cement, fine lines
Washed away, wings taped to back,
Lowly growls and aching joints they
Shuffle towards tall iron gates, ravens

Circle overhead dropping damnation’s
With each creaking step, headstone
Silhouetted against the surging hoard,
Tattered clothes and empty wounds

Do not hinder the move towards
Freedom, masses gather until they
Become one engulfed by the flames,
Flesh knits and bones fuse in the heat

Of curses, purple mist swirling by bare
Feet, the horrendous screeching echo’s
For all to hear, the staking of originality
To provide rebirth.


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