Moving along a surface of glacial idyll Motion and thought fossilized Ceaseless spiraling the only movement In an infinite procession Of decrepit intentions Layers of events s**ed dry of significance Piled up in the vast cemetery of the soul Because obscurity must be vanquished The horror of great distances threatens this Calm It doesn't matter if blood will be drained To the last drop These eyes observe from above Through a veiling sheet of ash No way out On the seventh day. something moved Wounds that have never bled now infected Black as if penetrated by the cosmic void But teeming with living palpitations Worms that eat up matter from the inside Nights become days, trees grow red Beauty reappears, reemerges from a vortex Given up for dead Beauty, mutated, shaped by the grasping Claws of a harpy Devotedly disfigured With a puckered smile of scarring Beneath unknown skies Its bloody caravan departed Never to be halted