on the Mer de Glace

the child blooms in an empty mind.
oh doctor!
victor!
is this why i tremble in my sleep?
cold carries a disillusioned vein
frozen long after the first glipse.
darkeness in soul who can never fly
you provide the birthday
and i'll provide the skin.

for the deamons amoung me
screaming
into second skin
laughing
a covenant replete with shame.
oh IAm, see, i call thy name
thy guardian of light
see, do i not shine just a bright
as the sea...

the horror of birth
the destruction of yesteryear
the memory of me, as i am no more
than the cold chilling thee in thy final score.

-------------

'Did I request thee, Maker from my clay
To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?'

- (X.743-5), John Milton's Paradise Lost.