heaven's doors

[cacian]

in the presence
of god
we are all appalled,
the state of the dull
is beyond the napaul,
thy shall taketh
a mole
a farmer
and a storm
to find and dig gore,
take it out from
the loins
of the inside of soul
and out onto nul,
the sun will shineth
upon
give it air
solace
galore,
and dull shall maketh
promises to come not
undo it and once more,
or else gods of the golds
shall an' shore
other wills to tare all
in situ
residu
and all that is bore