Image by Monica Medappa

Spanning across a thousand yards,

Across boulevards, circuit lines and bottle shards,

Stands a spectacle, stoic and skeletal.

For 800 years those pinnacles like needles,

 Awaits to spike a fallen angel…

Perhaps on one of my nocturnal musings

I might see an angel hanging

On your pinnacle like a flag hoisted

of white and gold afloat.

Your body mightily antediluvian,

is a dance of illumination,

of fire, ochre and feuillemort.

An emblem of divine enormity,

Despite that unflinching austerity,

Do you sometimes sway to impish tendencies?

Hiding within a goetic entity?

What secrets of past feuds and turmoil,

do you hold in those arches, vaults and gargoyles?

Did Gods and demons, within your walls

Debate, inebriate, copulate super coiled?

Towering solemn this witching hour..

Is Petrov, a golden spectre.

Triggers: Roslyn by Bon Iver & St. Vincent and Kometa by Jaromír Nohavica

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