November (IV)
Cold, unfeeling vultures feed on my naked heart,
Their icy, indifferent beaks and talons freezing the rent, bloodied tissue,
The flesh cracks mercilessly in their dispassionate maws and gullets.
In Promethean agony, I lay exposed,
Chained to this crag, like a ritual sacrifice.
The rock is Hope, the chains are Faith.
My good intentions are discarded, my noble ambitions denied,
My honest love rejected.
November 6, 2001
Created 11/06/01 / Last modified 05/13/02 by
Giovanni Dania
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Oh My God I'm Bleeding Ventures