Cataclysm [(ZL2kT)]

To write is never easy
When riding the night steeds
Scrunching pins exorcise,
Tapping sable prayer beads,
Squared, from demonic souls
Which go, out of control
Surrendering their reins
On snowridden, torpid plains.
There, plumed northern shamanbirds
Play with forbidden ruinmaking words

Les asturies lay barren
Ungrown details plucked
One by one, by a dim heron
Unfolding’ts petals in twilights.
Shadows from structure remain
A feeble Saint, once a cogent thane
Hastly drags a long, straggly chain,
On these lands with no pleats
Wishing for an obdurate end
To his misery, or to this day
To close curtains on the ballet,
Or navigate with caustic stars

Elvis the turtle has no spine
Overtingled from gospel chants, it snapped
Brokennecked, with a dangling beak,
Sulfursipping goes mumbling a shriek
Memorised from banshees, sirens
Of parkings lots the vitric tyrant
Shatters from cries going unbent

So I go, looking for who-I-am-not
But if I learn it’s all for naught
For when in walnut walled skies
To myself I open eyes
It’s the void I stare

Calling