an epiphany in eden.

Of the daughter in my mind,
and the sun i've crucified,
they are looking unto me...

Of the heathen in his head,
and the lovers in their bed,
they are never asleep...

Of the poet in his night,
sipping poison divine,
so painfully serene...

Of the pen that bleeds rhymes,
and makes manifest in lines,
scratched silent screams.