The void is a curtain of black velvet

draped around the idea of flesh

A prison made into an image of God

with a face of a harlot

Darkness swathed in darkness, light unmanifest

The light goes out, where the shadows sprawl

The light dies out, where the gods are born

The divine beckons when we wander at night

and are consumed by fire

It bellows, it blisters, it burrows beneath

Without words it whispers

like the soft rustle of leaves

There are thorns, the dark seeds, and they never end

The light goes out where the shadows sprawl

The light dies out where the gods are born

The divine beckons when we wander at night

and are consumed by fire