Roaming the tombs of the dead,
My breath of names on stones, offered a renewal of life.
A remembrance that may be cherished from the other side.
I Happened upon an ancient grave, which asked for my rose.
Red life seeped into the cold earth, leaving only a white rose.
With a prick of my finger and a drop of my blood...
I awoke in the land of the dead.
A once beautiful garden, strangled by thorns and thistles.
A reminder that beautiful things must die,
That beautiful things existed, just not for you.
Partaking in the rotten fruit of the garden, a great beast made itself known.
A human husk carrying three shadows;
One shadow begs in tunes of hope
One shadow sings in melodies of love
One cries in pitches of faith
Within its eyes, pools of glistening water.
From it's eyes emerged birds of all kinds,
All of which died on the great thorns of the garden,
Waiting for the beast to swallow them whole.
The beast uttered words incomprehensible.
With its words, impalpable visions appeared to me.
Attempts to materialise this beast, made futile by my corrupted tongue.
From its eye, comes a white dove.
In my ear, it whispered a word long lost from my language.
Upon declaring, I returned to the deader material.
Laid upon the grave, a keeper guided me to the gate.
Once passed, the keeper proclaimed,
"Our tongues do not remember the words that once made us human"
To this day, the words I heard remain a feeling I cannot utter, lest thorns and blisters fill my mouth and purge my soul.
YOU ARE READING
THE BIRTH OF THORN
SpiritualDuring a man's death, he has one final dream. in which he is met by a demon named thorn. Upon this encounter, the man realises that he was the demon all along, and the final truth is revealed, that life is only suffering and pain. He dies alone wit...
