We awoke our dead in crosslight
We awoke our dead in crosslight
Believing this crooked garden was hopeless serenity
In a wicked willow’s shocking heart
Breaking the drawn out seedling
Creature this yearning day
Bound forced in chains, trumpets, and gallows
Spinning a song thrusting the poverty
While I in my succinct image, fury this
Noising quiet planes that suck worrisome drones
All fullest glory
In a reaper’s sunday procession
Pounding waves that hallow afternoon light
Dim-sighted dolphins sink the crowds
As whales drink sharks acclaim
Chaptering these so brutal times
I cannot rose upon foggy climes
That I witness and turn a zion cheek
Curtailing this worm that lays eyes on
virginal ground
Seeping the eaves into blundered coagulations
I ponder sound truths in twilight
Screaming in my craft
As figures appear out of my dark
Clawing my so gentle self
Aligned in armor of nettles, titanium, and mist
Speeding oblivion to my skull
Wishing a harrowed whisper
To don my conscience
Thus the soil is the blood of man
I sip my demise in ma famille
As they step this tread realm
Environment my ghosting favor
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