City of THIS

The time denied the confluence of day in the dark
The Ghost in the machine partake in self-destruction
Only the name remains in the creation all around
With quivering heart the ventricals bulges blood
Such was not the day which spotted shingles within
Condemned of bare bones the nameless resides
Neither city nor cell could decipher Divine
Redemption was not my confession in the regression
The shadow is cast in the walk of HIS walk
Condemened, the memory nested in burrows or barns
The odour I wear and all goes passing by
Now the Beatrice looks askance about Heaven and Hell
Ghost in the machine remains in the city of THIS.