The Revelation


I stand upright on revelation hill
When Prometheus descends
Flaying his flaming hair
His body is soul personified
He arrives on a chariot of silver clouds
That glide through the air
Like angel’s distant cries
Around his neck, he wears a wreath
Of human hair
Seized from dead men’s chests
Dressed in perfectly pressed
Violets
And sick charcoal leaves
His smiles
Slowly
Give way to grief
Silent as silk
I hear him calling
On revelation hill
The grass has eyes
And lips that bleed
Like cherry wine
And Prometheus holds a torch
Whose inherent flame
Dances
To the shapes
Of the letters of my name
The flame consumes my being
From head to toe
Until my mind radiant with heat
And mightily aglow
Surrenders like a moth
To a glare of light
Revealing my destiny
With a quake and the power
Of renewed insight
Before me stand gargantuan doors
I open them, in pursuit of a cure
And contemplate
Whether any other human form has lived to see
The vision that projects to me
Made from ivory and gold
The doors of perception
Reach from the sky to the ground
And the trees are bare
From the waist down
Wasting down to the ground.

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