Poem 2: A Hallowed Golden Shell

To paraphrase Faulkner, whom I have barely read, do not be a writer, but instead be writing.

A Hallowed Golden Shell

Remembering to drown the light, we think

That even after all is said and done

We will have finally come to the brink

To stand before a gaping maw outrun

A crossroads where to spill the darkened blood

Of those we mold into fine shapes of clay

And thus we drag ourselves through filth and mud

We walk across the planes, come aught what may

But destiny looms over twisted paths

Winding through torrents terrible and fell

Behind closed doors we drown in silver baths

And find inside a hallowed golden shell

Take now this mighty boon bestowed on thee

And seek beyond what they can never see