When you cried aloud to the deepest blue
Of my mind.
When you had noticed what is truly wrong
With my kind,
I gave you greater sight to the cruelest sea
That runs over my skin, the blood of my debris.
The blood from my skin roars fervently.
Can you see?
Can you tell
Exactly what had formed our graces, in matrimony?
Holiness is a spell, that we are not for
Under sun or moon,
That both would not be worthy enough to burn
Our horrors away.
I have faced you, in your terrible time.
I once kissed you, across oceans of time.
The same times, we cried those oceans to fill up the land,
The same cries, we let loose upon the infertile sands.
Beauty is now a sculpture,
And love is now a brush, or a knife, to paint the blood,
Drawn from the carved wound,
And is it still color?