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Unnameable
Fully grown and curled up
His back arches
He moves gracefully, clumsily
Less than dancing
More than moving
Butterflies land on the knobs of his spine
Birds drink nectar from his lips
He is inhuman
Almost spiritual
Almost profane
A heavenly being
He is made for destruction
Beauty without a purpose
Turned beastly
The butterflies fold onto his skin like
paintings
One daintily on each vertebrae
The birds drop dead
Feathers molt
Smile on his lips
so sweet its sickly
From his blood births animals
From his nails bloom plants
From his mouth crawls monarchs
He is nature in its purest form
He destroys and creates
and inhales everything all at once
His chest is heavy
Born to be a martyr
He carries the world on his shoulders
He is the god of death and creation
all he wears is his own skin
And owes one nothing
Unearthly
He makes kings
He makes queens
From his lungs birth
dictators
tyrants
presidents
and future rulers
He can create a world with one thought
Destroy it in a mere second.
He is powerless to his own urges
He can end anyone’s suffering but his own
So he suffers to create more war
His pain is the anguish of the world
His joy the hope of the universe
He is made of constellations
The fabric of his skin is a universe
You can call him a devil or a god
Worship him
or
Damn him
It won’t change a thing
His beauty is beastly
His life is death
His salvation is our nation
We can lose ourselves in his world
Or create our own
He lives to suffer
Dies to feel joy
He will swallow the sun
Drink the moon
Soak up the seas
and break the mold
He is the monsoon
that sweeps you off your feet
He is
The tides, wind, moon, sky,stars
And
The Sun
shining everlasting
He is the seasons in their entirety,
He is the butterfly on your shoulder
Fragile and dangerous
Don’t let him break
He is no one but himself
All he will be
All he can be
I am him
He is me
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