Into the Gyre

Plummeting to the ground,      
Wings lacerated,      
tips blackened,      
Scent of burnt amber,      
Black smoke rising in a film.      
     
Plunging to earth,      
ground rising and falling,      
spitting poison,      
gripping a apocalypse,      
grasping at ghosts not there.      
     
Collapsing in oblivion,      
ground and form one,      
life issuing in streams,      
ice the greeting,      
damned heads moaning.      
     
Sin begets sin,      
life begets life.      
Lovers look on,      
as they watch you fall  
and fall themselves.          
     
There is a way out,      
I promise,      
along the devils back.      
The demon encased in ice,      
wing beats creating hoarfrost.      
     
There is a truth to be learned,      
something to mend the wounds.      
     
The secret      
to salvation      
is to see      
that the devil      
did it to itself.