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Beauty

Non Opus Dei

a dying ray of the sun in the middle of winter
a wind talking to me in an empty field
an eagle up in the sky borne by the wind
a tear of dew in the rising sun
a bullet hungry of my blood, drunk with its prey
an infantry marching for victory or death
a womb of a hungry woman staring at me
a god drunk with mead creating the unspeakable
a tide of the ocean coming forth and returning
a dying oak, struck by the lightning, coming back to life

a queen of every hive, running with mead
a queen of every hive, running with mead
a queen of every hive, running with mead