In The Stars.

For the present, memory is rattled by the sorrel sobs that do not quell from my bleeding lips And I, now enclosed, in the flowers and darkened furnaces that blemished on my pale skin, I do not know, nor do I remember, but it is through the ashes in my weary palms, On the ghoul traces of wind that says to me, ensconced, “Slicked through the tears of the dark clouds with wraith-like fires upon a weak soul, The wind shall hear no name...

“You bring me the Sun and Moon…” By A Chief Among Sinners.

You bring me the Sun and Moon at your pale weary palms,
Your tilted wrists glinted with dew drops of sweat,
You hold the Sun, exerting faint balmy breaths of gold on your right hand,
And you grasp the pale white- lit rippling silver pool iris of the Moon on your left,
You took the glistening bronze celestial orbs from their faded folds of the silk threaded heavens