A Tributary In Servitude 5 Wings Of Morning
I. Astronomical DawnA truckload of dreamsand they will not come to pa.s.s— blackened sunbeams flicking throughthighs and armpits of the moon— helicrafts of holocaust over murky waters ofsoul echo deaths that are mine by the lament of stones.I hold its waters in my hands,cracked chinas of abandoned testaments neither here nor there in dreams of fright, of fractured movements inveins of matter, cla.s.sical theories of me dying with the musicof my dreams.I hold its waters in my hands, summary of a pa.s.sion that led me into streets at dawn chanting the forbidden word—a renegade toddler stripped and slammedon the scout's slaughter slab.In one onslaught of solitude through green eyes, options weighed, resignation deniedso propels the surge— the silent treachery of calmness, low ebb is rustwithout soft landingrammed into bricks and thistles of the mesh.Out of which love beckons mefor I'm loved by one and one alone interloper now before your eyes trapdoor to treasure trove—to win, you have to be fit and to be fityou must be ready to win…II. Nautical DawnTraveller, you have not been this way before. Take your gong and pipe,seven old nuts awoken from earth's core;Seven gourdlets of supplies hidden in your pouch as you step out this day…Life begins at dawnwhen the wrong dew sheathesthe green spear by the bank of the stream your head must wrestle with the mistscrop out your hands and squat for a camel's drink.The journey will be long and the deserta rough cross for the rebel wherethe fixtures are sky-bound for even theflattest of all springs has a crocodile in its sands.Brother, I goI take up the pillar, the postthe sins, the stardust of my timethe dilapidated sanctuary of thoughts— fresh earth for a new beginning.I have communed with myselves,drawn fancy patterns from the eyes of my grave after several dimensions of hermitage,after several dimensions of savagery, after several dimensions of waiting.I have seen a candle flame on the navel of my grave;I have sold my fears I go to the windsset for new horizons at the call of dawn.III. Civil DawnIf it must rainlet those who will not be cowedcome out with me to chase the leather…The fox dribbled my clan on a muddy field after rainthe result is my aged limpand this is a loss ensconcing route through the woods of time.I pipe a wormy tune, having lost Atlantisand drunk from the Atlantic of three histories.
Picking up the crumbs of life after a shattering blowpauper in want ignoring crumbs from the tables my soul is fresh from the cleanersmarked at covert anglesby the memory of death that has killed my shame.
Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click for visiting.You have stayed too long at this inn, what is this colour your laughter wears?You murdered three men built poems on their blood; you murdered nine othersembalmed them in your shrine yet no one calls you a murderereven the blood on your lips is the white of wool.Your journey begins at dawnwhen the wrong dew sheathes the green spear by the throne of your loveyour head must wrestle with the wind reclaim your throne or die trying…