The smell of the graveyard, and the tombstones,
a mellow decadence of decay, at my feet were
an eccho of the dead.
Thus we walked, that night, and at the ash
in the middle of the garden of death,
we saw the terror of womanhood.
The harpy, its fierce paws, its darkened wings,
its gloomy eyes, and its hoarse scream:
The weight of a feather?
And I calmly replied: "Let it fall. I came not
for silly questions, nor answers of what
I already know. Begone!"
The deformed figure hissed, and flew away.
A golden eagle landed instead.
An orange flower was at its claw-feet.
"Wanderer. What do you seek?" its fiery voice roarked
And I replied: "What happens if man becomes his religion?"
"Pluck this flower beneath my feet and see what happens
when man desires life which is not his to command.
This is the law of the universe."
I plucked the flower and held it gently in my hands,
but it withered, and turned into dust on the ground
The flower had shown me all.
Unto me the eagle turned, with a burning leaf in its claws,
A white snake came out from beneath the roots of the ash,
and the harpy, the harpy - its claws were deep in my chest.
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