Doves that get lost in the clouds
fell dead around Eden's gates,
And the demons were forced to come in -
Masks forged strong for their hosts, stretch from each coast,
With the monotone beats of their sin.
Played on drums without skins, plastic envelope wounds -
Dressed in bandages doused in one hope,
That in tomorrows freeze frame of time -
The demons are given that sign, and start work on a kingdom for Eve.
They cut wood from her fields, and varnish with care -
And mine her gold and silver and love,
They plant seeds for her trees, producing the brightest white leaves,
Which protect gentle Eve from the storm.
In twilight years, in days gone by - they form around her in crowds,
They look to the sky, bid Eve a good bye -
Becoming Doves that get lost in the clouds.
by Andy Carpenter
Read the story behind this poem
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