Crystal Ashtray

Ravish me with delicacy, harness it and ride it home

Make the quirky leap of Faith

And don't glance down as you pass over Hell

Charge me for your service, the ultimate being,

Keep grasping at me blindly, receiving handfuls of rich dirt that the Maples take root in,

Until their sweet and clean smell is gone, only but a parched and scented dream

Dip your ashes into the holes of the Earth with me,

Let the crying magma quiver at your feet

Take control of the enflamed trees, burn the dreams,

And let the rotten smoke fill your memories

A pregnant nebula holds God in its womb

The passing rocks, they cluster in significance,

Prying veins apart to drink what tender juice of residuals is left behind

A mother with an anemic mind lies to rest upon such clusters,

Throwing together heaps of stray dignity once buried below the bridges of weaving stellar cities

To give birth on down the food chain, and recall it for its obscenity,

What figure could not salvage the scraps of impounded rock,

To defy the rights of Maples once rooted if only for short-lived refuge, the birth that cannot wait

The doors are on their way, so hold me here till gravity can subdue me,

And I'll drift along in rotating limbo, watching as powerful stars collapse and freeze over

When Satan's face is at your window the ice thins and the print stays,

His kin marching through towers of remenission,

How can I smile so boldly in the face of Hell

When the absence of Faith dances on your heart, you stir in bed under the cold

Thus, I am alone

Pulling on antimatter to augment the sky,

Open holes in debatable existence for suffocating the lack of fear,

Instead enclosing rapped granite of composed and impassive stature,

To measure the range of the universe and cross the road inbetween galaxies,

All defined by invented roots

Yet here and none only, the grass gets thick,

The blades sharpen and jab at you as we lie beneath a recollection of home

The shade seems to give courage to the tiny emerald swords,

So is it not worth gold to withstand a powerful enemy?

A shining cross may sheen unusually at proposals of a coward,

No volcanic breeze can rust its glow,

Not till the Sun stops reflecting off your eyes

When they close, the graphic sphere falls,

And a consistently deepening nothing will eat the Moon, but spare the Earth,

For no force can stop its spin, the constant spiral floating in grace

The smoldering nucleus that dawned itself,

Shaped out of uncertainty and fortune

The curtains once closed over such an act

But the Child bore through, placed its feet on the marble of nil,

And chose to recreate a miracle not meant to be given

He stands with a soft breath in the womb of existence,

Secretly opening His eyes to sigh at the rest of the world

It costs blood to smile in velvet,

So the Saints sin quicker and soon regret it,

Bending back the spine of entity to allow a wholesome will

The single flower rises from the depths of the Earth to breath life in a final shuddered vain

There are other worlds than these, if not then no blossom shall ever bloom

The captive seeds crack open to spew color into the ash,

A cache of burning embers now as cold as the stone they're buried in

Still, from a distance, someone watches, unable to see the scared ruble and lone yellow petals,

Blinded by the solar eyes behind a crystal dome