The Golden Tears and The Choir

by Anne Stockholm
(London, UK)

He held me inside his arms of denial;

He fed my soul with crystal bliss in the pits of hungry desperation…

I am moved in the silence of the choir’s midnight finale,

& my burns are cured in his cradle of fire…

In the demise of angelic perfection,

There is a code in a song that is written for miles…

In the world’s selfish quest to depict imagination,

Their arrogance has flushed the truth that once wept.

Tangled in his eyes that imprison the desire of the unholy,

I break and I fall in front of the grand unchained orchestra…

The papers shall never reveal the truth your eyes are searching for;

Your lips will never speak of the words that have drowned in their oceanic deception.

And I will not fail to mention…

I once loved the diagnosed insane that today’s world of fools consider taboo.

We are now ruled by hypocritical beasts that feast on the tension, crawling beneath the surface of our skin.

Born from a life in simplistic lights, I abandon the hollow within.

Then shall I wait, in finality with him,

To be moved in the silence of the choir’s midnight finale.

He will undo the cure to my burning pain as I embrace his cradle of fire.