Jul 31, 2022
Snowgrave
Every voice is a supererogation
Of divinity’s immortal blizzard.
Sacred commands of monstrosity
Proceed in gregarious brutality
And the anatomical heart of a soul
Feels lost in ancient determination.
She holds the world in a snow globe
Cast upon eyes of fluorescent white
And hands sculpted in rigid sight.
If strength was every icebolt strike,
Then the world would succumb to the
Lost fountain of the roaring knight.
It is every voice that powers her
And every jolt of frigidity tugging
The strings of the underworld.
It is every ache of renewed reality
That speaks in words of aphonia
In graves of frigorific dystopia.
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