Here is a wide, endless field, full of butterfly weeds.
Yellowed and cracked bones hide beneath ochre pleasantries.
Run betwixt the blossoms until you find frothy seas.
Let your lungs fill to burst with the freshly salted breeze.
Lie down here and admire the stellar webs from beneath.
Splashes of heaven’s blood adorned in stardust debris.
Constellations forge a cosmic face longing to see.
For his eyes aflame know naught but eternal bereave.
An exuberant rogue rends the visage into three.
Its burning crimson tail like ichor from eye to cheek.
Cracks of firmament spill all the viscera beneath.
The mind’s eye bare in coils of tendrilled cerebral seeds.
Within the pulsing mass of spilled thought, you will find me.
And the desiccated skull, from which the gored mind bleeds?
The womb that birthed his terrified, unrequited pleas?
That visage is yours ascending the nebulae seas.
Though I beg of you, and though I plead relentlessly;
I’m nothing but your sick, ephemeral progeny.
The tale you think you're following has misled you. There are no heroes of light and dark here.