Look at these beautiful things

Cased and drowned in their wonder

.

Look at the practical dire things

Vexed in the nausea of one another

.

To be so proud in a bleak set kingdom

The useless hold glamour in favor

.

By tar and mud what is said cant be done

Whats the same is as sane as the other

.

On the throne of the Mother!

.

On the shore of still seas.

.

On the beauty that lets us see

Come true – vaulted nights – into dreams

.

Clustered mares run out to find

Honest lovers eating lies

.

Whisk past – cool demons

Let art live on for one more season

.

Let reality come to dine on thoughts

Obscure in what’s Divine

.

On the throne of the Mother!

There’s rejoice in our eyes

Resilience and youth in the dense waves nurture

In the fervence transformed through passionate Jest

.

Call off your fawn summer

Be lame in demure – fashioned practiced and sure

To receipt every sin that cosigns

Ask for repent – receive and be wrong – be already sent

.

Maiden, Crone and the Mother

.

All the chairmen beside

.

What cost to appeal the demands of the real

Where fantasy has lost its mind – and fashion

.

700 lashings – go back to your trash

Push up from the ground to meet chairmen’s feet

.

So long to virgins vast servants

Palace guards and vein yards

Sullied rosettes cast in vinyl and flesh

Closed to muse on subservience and malliard

.

Ideal past the word lost in meaning

Absurd – past the point of communion

What’s beneathe couldn’t deserve it

For one last day you may see your god

.

On the throne of the Mother!

We’ve lost one another

Past streams of subconscious

And blue hoofed demons

Resounding – lost, close to loathing

Alive though we’re broken

Reacting through silence

To attain The Sublime

.

Spay your treacherous lines.

.

On the grave of the Mother.

.

= Grave Of The Mother =

.

- Faye Coon