Your Eyes

Your eyes are staring at me, from the other side of the room

They're staring straight at me, to admonish, I would assume

The whites, those alluring dark irises and the pupils of hate

Seemingly wondering what happened on this dastardly date

Wish I could hide from the sight, for it's an unravelling burden

Tho' I'll settle for second best and pour myself another bourbon

But I'm sweating and shaking and there's claret everywhere

With your eyes unrelenting, although your body's not there

Can barely remember the gouging and the 'fuck and the what?'

But my fingers are bloody and I can taste the bile and the snot

Thought I was merely a witness, but it was me, I would assume

For your eyes are accusing me, from the other side of the room

Xaphan's Gone

Xaphan's gone; he'll no longer fan the flames, or blight the verdant lands
As he transcends to Earth with its poisoned seas and creeping desert sands
Perhaps one day he'll find those open minds, for nothing's clearly focused
His prophecies realised, of plague and hate and swarms of flying locusts
As silence falls, time unfurls, for it's held together with broken stitches
Nothing's forever, not faith or poets, science, or even wizened witches
'tis naught to fear though, for what will be, will always come to pass
Salvation was never any kind of option, for the ceiling's made of glass
God went first and now Xaphan's gone and it's your time to bid farewell
Or mock his failings, but you'll not send him back to a flaming pit of Hell
Now he'll await his fate, amongst the shires, afar from the plastic oceans
Eventide is where he'll dwell, with wicked witches, drinking magic potions