Silence.
Well,
we
should get going.
Sleaze they tremble,
eyes terrifyingly dry,
Harvest of adventures,
of wild and immeasurable logic,
Rags so attractive,
like remnants of a children's song,
Passion
is deathless,
hopes surround you relentlessly,
On no speech yet worldly,
breathe through poor skin,
Phonetics whisper to a flame,
like horrors of a secret tomb,
A mythogram in question,
the charm still sent in a lost kin,
Eyelash through the flame falls,
Contemplate the lonely death of now.
Walking on top of a tree,
Twigs snap under his feet,
Howling death can only confine,
No one that can taste such light,
Make sure the wrath that has cast it,
In heaps of dried cedar leaves,
Are human terms
established to write,
Make sure to contain all the light.
One elusive strength,
Who gained his senses
in love's order,
Forget how far it is thin,
Suffocate dreams of sunlight,
It's a small,
pure voice telling,
A strength voice always leaving,