Paradise

Our shadows sing a song
Where our tears and light belong,
Where frost holds a damaged sun
And leaves that spiral run.
So small in our skin,
Decayed figures within
Yet how swollen are we
By the omens that we see
As in the winter tale’s otherworldly sphere
Castles of the mist disappear,
High spires of Paradise overthrown
While the crownless weeps upon the throne.


The bell’s whispers remorseful fly
To the ruin of what was in the sky
And the fire as the silver rings
Stills the dawn’s celestial wings
While river mirrors somberly reflect
Horizons that shall not connect
To star, or life, or prayer
As the grave perfumes the breathless air.

Is it snow or ash that falls
From Heaven’s forsaken walls?
The crownless in fallen glory
Turns the pages of our story
And the orisons which yet He hears
Become a feast of fractured tears
That He shall swallow with regret
From ill eons His heart cannot forget.