when the old gods die

a toast
to the old gods
the gods of
winter’s cruelty
i raise the left hand
with a glass of shallow wine
in one final remembrance
of death’s immaculate kiss

frozen hands
sunrise sour
buried under desert sands
and strapped upon the broken tower
sitting on the pale end of excitement
ohh how this blood burns with
an untapped and untamed passion
waiting for the night to release

for now is the time to
shed the old
and begin anew
the color of this soul
no longer blue

walking within a spring sunset
a soul steps, then to pause
happening upon
a multitude of
immortal and unwritten laws

in affirmation of the struggle
waiting to discover
an indeterminate self
with the promise of inner glory
and the mystery that awaits

the dogs of hell’s junkyard are starving

no longer a shining star
too low to be seen
no longer a body unfit to heed
the mating call of a higher power
in reverse the mind can only bleed

and in the distance
a band that played the heat
with simple lyrics
no longer obsolete

and mixed
within a half-way heart
i’m limping through
the second rotation
holy mutation
of the evolution to come

falling from innocent tones
nothing but an orphan
wandering, martyred unknown

headlong head space
momentarily balanced
between a warrior’s cause
and a magician’s embrace

one last invitation
a solitary invocation
releasing the inner satan
as we fantasize with fate
unforeseen and dancing
upon the floor of an eternal rhyme



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