Shine like holy silver
What would it take to see her?
Heavy wings, dipped with poison
Unholy, yet with reason
Mirrored sunlight, twisted fire
What great force with subtle ire
That obelisk. spire skyward
To the heavens points this sword
Pylon of might and glory
Etched, carved, imbued with story
Reaching up like lightening rod
A fist in the face of god.
Shimmering, like glass, steel silk
A remnant for the sword hilt
Glory undimmed, pure of rust
Hailed the kings, returned to dust
The stars, the earth, lit with gold
That iron silver, touch so cold
The lace of iridium
It calls from Elysium
To the hero, the maiden
It lets desire awaken
Bound with bliss, and heart, and light
Is found gleaming in the night
Atop the spire like a torch
The fire that spreads with a touch
Beacon blazing, mirrored rage
Blind heretic in the maze
With thousand facets so white
Bleeding knowledge, snuff out might
No book remembers her tales
No song, not even the whales
Pass out of time and to earth
Falls to a place without mirth
Naught but the ego survives
To haunt 'til the soul revives
YOU ARE READING
Iridium Columns
PoetryMy first book of poetry, combining some that I wrote ages ago and some that I am writing now. If we know where we've been, we know where we're going. It's a journey through time.
