|
REND
Swallowed by transient white vessel
through no orifice passed
There stand menhirs three in the damp and shapeless throat
A dark pyre of lost will
undigested by dull brightness
A complexion oft mistaken for southern stormclouds
Wind weathered thrones for the seating of none
Except in the appirations of a senile king
Beneath the misty drapes, there is only ash
A shadow of the grass once living
Red consumed, now mere ashes in white purgatory
Continuum develops at the feet of the three
Static, watching the world conjur its fall
They take time to lament the dying embers
Last edited by atremore; 12-17-2004 at 08:58 PM.
|