Apollyon

The Mothers wounds, opens her palms.
To raise a dream destroyer, laying
In the hamper of utter happiness, and safety next to their mothers bosom.

As she brings in the true dream
And she brings in the true destroyer

Her idol hands, Miss the comfort of another,

To look at the disfigurement, in her mind.

She says
“At least you’re happy, but at least I am”
“Not happy.” -

To suppose on, such a belief,
I belong to some, sad lone memory,
Of a veteran, laying on his back
And to the discomfort.

She says to herself,

“Oh, how, I am glad, you made it.
And oh, how I am, Glad you are here.
With me, the both, of you,
For eternity.




I am now one of the Immortals.”
“So-long as this breath, be passed on to me. So long as you live in, me.”

The poem of a blank memory. Has come to deceive me.
I thank thee, to love me, in all ways back.

Even though, you’re the destroyer,
A dark hack, like baby trident.
So long liveth, Apollyon