Rapture Calls

I lay her down in fields of night– too dead

For passion to play an empty tune–

Her senses wrought by sensual calls

Reflected vitality with vacant rooms–

She said she wanted to dance– endlessly

Across the stars– but words were words–

And promises never materialised to more

Than anaesthesia blessed dreams–

Give me proof the world still turns– my sanity burns–

The star were not snuffed out that night–

We fixated in each step we take– materialise now–

Aeons depart these foretold chasms– planets collide–

Did we die– ecstasy awaits– bastion– fires–

Rapture culling the damned with sweet delirium–

Calling– Give me proof the world still turns–

  

  

  

Poem © Phen Weston 2015