Emma Lister

PERFECTION

Garden bright And picturesque blue falls, Trees of green Like the fi.rst colors. Imagine, when He created colors. Garden whole, And soothing pink clouds above Sway the boughs, Lullaby of earth and old, Old wings stroke harps, lullaby. She, with fingers Like the feathers of the first bird, Them to touch and feel the Cursed fruit under silk and dark light And like that, In carnal, Sinful appetite, Paradise was flashed to ash.

He and she, They of wounded worries, lost,

And grey, now, Dirt and sand kissed their lips. For no one else would have them. She and he, they of golden banded Trust and statue still. They were promised to the heat, The sleep and lack and greed, And journeys through What steel cities, cold chilled cities, Promised would be their Heaven. Golden wishes, feather fingers,

Sand kissed lips, Children born into that exile Melancholie menagerie.

So soon perfection tends to dry, The pink white skin slit open. Under, Rushing, red, Steaming and flowing blood, Bubbles, burns bone and vein. So, perfection tends to slice. Golden banded hands hold tight, And minds mouth words Create the strongest flows The storms of red, Burns bone. The hands hold tight, Golden banded hands hold tight. And the children scream Melancholie menagerie, And she and he Until the world seems to have its Lips stretched taut, And out of them wordless shrieking, Soundless beating. But the world is four walls And the sound is not soundless.

-RichieWheelock