The Viking Journal

Desolation of love,

Barren of landscape.

Neigh of opportunity,

Cold of forgiveness.

It cannot be.

Why must it be this way?

But it must be this way.

And it shall.

For as long as we are,

It is to be.

It should not end,

Nor shall it end.

Like man and woman bound,

Like child bound to mother’s teat.

You and I wait.

You and I cannot look away.

You and I made this.

Caress your child,

Caress of hymnal whispers.

This is what You and God want.

Like a mother sickened by her child,

There is nill of love.

There is all of nothing.

Null and abandoned.

Look and you shall receive,

Your punishment from your loving mother,

For something you have not done,

But nevertheless guilty of.

We are not to spite of hand,

But of creation.

Your bone is not to mine.