Epiphany

Under the dome
adulterous hands fornicate
Eyes downturned, lips twist
thoughts to whispered words,
breathe emptiness
to the hall
and

conscience screams
silent

vanity stares
from coloured glass and golden decor;
judging glares demand rent
on landlord's behalf

floorstone by my knee
snares the eye, forces
past form and imperfection
to the simple, absolute
existance

I release my conscience
walls throw sin back
and forth, but the stone
is silent

I rise
before its Landord.




Poetry by Mikkel Mowinckel
Read 862 times
Written on 2006-10-18 at 04:00

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Zoya Zaidi
Unique vocabulary, unique approach, unique style!
Welcome to the bay dear friend, Mikkel!
Love,
Zoya
2006-10-18