The muses only sing
When Heaven and Hell
Collide in me.
Demons shriek
At my beck and call
On the left flank,
While Seraphim hum
At my right.
Heartstrings have to be
Plucked just right,
In order to let words flow,
Like king butterflies
On their way back home
To Mexico.
Through every word
Rings curses, the weight of
A thousand generations before
Screaming to be heard
Or clamoring to be
Left alone.
The task is to pick and choose
Right words, like planning
An attack, and executing a
Parry, thrust, until I’ve taken
This fine-edged blade
Of both Heaven and Hell,
Delicately piercing
Your heart with it.
I won’t stop
Until you feel
Every last vibrating pulse, ringing,
In the hollow darkness.
D.H. Lee
(via Swanksalot)