All But Still Desired

Where the kings once faltered
and hail,
the queens would cry blood
on dark flowers in bloom;
hail,
I am made of grieving stone.

I am your master,
I will make your dreams come true;
you are the ashes to my rivers,
subsiding,
the mountains burst like glass fire-works
beneath sonorous breaths.

Dare to lie in fields
the naked meadows of golden hearts,
fluttering
like the butterflies with paper wings;
a soliloquy of turning pages,
turning pages to virulent dust.

Inhale,
I inhale you;
I am your saviour,
I will descend with one wing upon your barren soul,
through dim eyes I am a shadowed lingering memory.

Forgiven,
where queens wept blood
unto the withered flowers,
and
I became a king ....