The words of my father

My father's words



My father's words are the opposite of me.

a virgin Mary with an epiphany

It and he ramble throughout the changing times of space

as though there were no either sargasso ninja turtle base.

they ebony of his eyes are daunting, sweet

the ebony of his shoulders is loud, yet meek

there are no limits to his world of suggestion,

however, wrapped up inside his arms, I to hold the lesson

that we are no inferior god, no Cloud Strife rebuttal, no Shinji of Rod.

no mercy of Mecca, no kamikaze of Clouds, no summer of tomorrow, no evening shrouds.

we are Carbuncle, a Phoenix-flame of existence, where Death is Death Vally, and Antigonic viewpoint, its serenity.

We doubt, we aim low, a field of dreams we wander.

as if Surry was Death Rom of my Maiden Fallen Wanderer.

Who am I but the Peach in the Pear tree, the one Mario aims for with his invited antigony, Luigi?

I have no curfew, he was saying as he raped me, of Virgin Mary Magdelene, and of Virgin Mary.

"You're not married to Mary Magdelene," he said as he spoke unto me, "She abandoned you over your versifony.

There are no waging' wanderers here, except you and me. So, light a cold litter glass and be Persephone.