Rotting Sleeping Beauty

(I found) my gilded forest archangel but wounded upon the forest floor
And with Her gasping last breath bore the love that she swore forevermore
I climb the haunting winding staircase With intent to plunge deep into the fathomless abyss, whence upon the precipice
But alas, a vengeful thought lures me away to savour thy lovelorn kiss

Dark taints of lustrum, an amorous covet wrought
Through thick tales of warfare, through which my loyal serpents sought
To mutiny thereafter, for eternity in sweet Tyranny's arms
Thus I tailored away to blacker pastures and philosophical psalms
And as She led them astray, through orgiastic foreplay
Each in vanity to display their likenesses per se
'Twas it not for Her beauty, a slicken goddess that they sought
For if he couldn't have Her, then god would surely forfeit Her soul

Kissing Her smouldering burnt black lips for the last
Time beats no relevance in my languished morning tonight
I hear my angel singing briskly
She gleams as mind's opera screams
Like starving voyeurs unto my coming
She appears as if in my dreams

I am the face of pain that lingers in the dark
Upon the gloomy misanthropic tears
That thou once shed underneath casket glass
When the skies were benighted, and I returned the masses to Earth
I owe these horrid fates I've sewn to a quenchless sanguine thirst
From which my race was born in illustrious bridal gowns
For a taste of immortality I licked Her lips with passions as yet unknown
Toward a myriad of forbidden lusts and midnight overthroes
To languid anguish of thee and sodden woe

Then from the shadows such a hideous crone
The sight of which left me green faced and sickly prone
To convulsive plague whereby the dozens died in droves
And christ waved his flag of truce, begging mercy to be bestowed

What triumphs may come? Tyranny in his arms
Fighting back the tears of fear for the dagger at Her throat
Biding my time, I let come what may
Then 'twixt suspenseful disarray I watch Her fall from grace
Like severed orchids, trodden to sodden Earth
Terror and tragedy immerse the cognitive horse-drawn hearse

The heavens lie in ruin at the mercy of devastation
A picturesque portrait of hell as in midnight chimes damnation
And effigies stand enthroned of sweet graceful Tyranny
A sombre monument She stands so proud in its irony
But eternity lengthens without thy sweet embrace
Or the beauty of thy face
Mortals drown in misery, in despairing mournful tears
For fallen regal icons that they once held so dear

I smell Her scent upon the gentle whispering breeze
Alas my soul, wilt thou not come back for me...?