Two gargoyles perched upon the ledge of space
With waterspouts entwined, like fire tongues;
They watched all earth's cathedrals crumble down,
And burned the wreck in stony earthless love.
"We pray the Syrian named Issac prays
For us: All sprites and moaning devils; all
Our peers. We've gaurded all the temples well,
And yet are shunned like monsters from the pit."
Their solid faces shone upon the fringe
And dripped with ancient blood that turned to crust;
Misunderstood, they found a better place,
And guard the cosmos with their plaintive song.
Adding your comment:
Your form pieces were always among my favorites of yours, Maestro. Few and far between are those writers who could ever pull them off with such finesse. Rest in peace, Scribe. 
