Signs

A winding path in a quiet and cold storm
It ascents higher and higher to an abyssal summit
Abrupt ravines where sink the grounded souls
The spirits tortured by the fire, the blood, the desire
The dishannonic and intoxicating music of the impious cries
The chorus of a dark etemal church
The love which dies in a nauseous rale
Vomiting her last sweetness in a melodic and proud crescendo
Led through the transparent and fantastic colours
The priest hears his last prayer
Under the broken vault of this stonework which vibrates into
What it Is Not And Will Soon No More BE
Insufflating him its dying fluid
Which curdles under the rhythm of the requiem
The piercing screams are at the apogee
The fusion of the universe implodes under the pressure of the tears
The howls are near
I feel her breath beneath the trees
And let me lay on the damp grey grass
Her perfume is sinking into and I indulge