Iron Raking Silver

How do we contest,
The savagery of the downpour?

                                                                                The dagger was twisted by uncontested sin

And the Pule of Mad Men
Was Heralded in ice 
They are creatures of sobs
Riven and flogged mice
                                                              Her placid smile,
Abandoned for the shroud
Lifeless in their sound
                                            Sharpened tongue, waxing poison, inward and without
Priceless remorse
Disgust in pule force
                                                      Shaken violently,     
Scorn inspires
A convulsion of breath 
                                                Only in spite, only in death will she stop, flaying the seams
Enlightened by the need
for the air and the trees
                                                            Still weaving her dreams
cry infirmity
Wherein demise
And spiteful reprise
Will pass through eternity

                                                                                      Among angry gods, there will be no rest

Now suffer my children,
Burn in her jest...