The Bridegroom

Can you see the sun rising up over the
moon with her smile in her hair, black and shining as the
stars in the sky falling down like a fireball
inside, of my eyes burning brightly with sparkles in the
night turning red, turning white, turning over to the
side, feeling sick, curling up, mesmerised as if
some things did collide, in the sky...

Can you hear the life on the ground where you stood
holding the green turn to brown, and the withered thing is
proudly now dust and its sin, was to not believe a
thing in the word prophesied, for this time to die and
till gold is pavement for feet, once the broken world
is crumbling to bits and our memories subside into
sounds in the sky...

Can you see the rain lacerating off the lines
on the road, where you lie deep inside the ground of
broken debris, oversize sliced and shaking in the wind
rising up, like a tide surging through the iron wires
thrown aside, from the skyscrapers torn to pieces when
the messiah, on his horse came with fire in his eyes
to collect you, his bride...

Can you hear the time rolling up its hands to three
in the hour, of the night where the painted cloud has
turned into brush drying up, black and gold dust into
drink sucking small galaxies, into puddles toasting
wine bread and dine for a feast, at the wedding of the
bride and the groom, burning hair, long and tender as his
kiss warm as life...

Copyright of Dawn Fung
Completed 4 June 2008