The Goth-Wish For Winter

An Architect or a Whistle,
Oh who can choose between
These men who stand so tall and proud
And long and steel and lean?

In minds of many where doubts once were
Angels bathe in silky fluid
And from this knowledge I disinter
The brain workings of a druid.

The feathers of a winter wearer
Were put on much too late
For Spring is here for those who care
To crush old Winter's hate.

But when Old Zefyr’s bitter pill
Was gulped unwittingly
Both Architect and fine Whistle
Marred ungraciously...

“That shall be rife which thou makest in BLOOD
What fine, bedeviled witches find.”
And then they took a brittle bone
and boiled it with vile rind.

And so the bone doth maketh meal
And mealy mouths are fed
And all around the gargoyles carped
As firey fiends fast wed

The feathered broom was burned away
The drips of blood now floweth
The silk now spilt upon the harth
It cameth so it goeth.

Indeed the toil was nearly done
And simmered bones now toyed
With fettered homes that Gods forgot
Or Lucifer destroyed.