My fingers weave his silver hair,
upon my lap he lay.
He’ll die among the wildflower,
on a brisk and windy day.
A crooked finger to my face,
Enochian on his lips.
The last verse of his holy book,
lost to zephyr’s kiss.
His eyes archaic as the sun,
etched with stains of time.
Within I see chaotic order,
the blueprint of design.
I ask god where he’ll go when he dies.
he pauses, ponders, and prays.
“Heaven.” he answers finally,
“If it, for me, exists.”
I ask god why he is dying,
why I too will one day die.
But he just smiles sadly,
“.”
Tears meander down his cheeks,
Like rivers that he once carved.
They trace the abysses of his skin
and trickle to my knees.
Golden Ichor,
honey on my fingers,
the lights of heaven, fires
below- the flare of a dying star.
god gives me his hands,
cold Yet I
caress the calluses of
a millennia “thank you…” he whispered,
closes his eyes,
and meets his maker.
-death of a god
Concept Draft
I lay him on my lap, stroking his thin silver hair.
His mouth wipe agape, rattling, raspy breaths
White crust around his shriveled lips
A crooked finger to my face
Don’t let them forget me don’t let them forget me don’t let them forget..
Me…
He trails off he... Voice like discord and cacophony
Cadencing like meandering rivers
He told me he had once watched slither to life
Voice like broken glass, voice like radio static
Eyes timeless like marbles
Etched with stains of time
Dirty glassy yellow stains of time
broken glass marbles
I ask god where he’ll go after he dies
Nowhere
he says
there is nothing
I ask god why he will die why I too will one day die
But he never answers me
just muttering beneath his breath
Over and over
Don't you forsaken me
Golden Ichor out his eyes his nose... his holy tears
Golden Ichor sticky like honey on my fingers
Golden like the heavens above golden like the flames below
Golden like the flare of a dying star.
god gives me his hands,
So cold... so rough…
...the calluses of his millennium...
closes his eyes
and meets his maker