The whole of dead language
To carry to, to urge me and to rush back and forth
dawn rekindling beckons to join
And I to throw asleep on the way intricate back
Of night silence
Upon the back of many more
to carry tears of plenteousness
There are those , upon moments, have chosen sleep or dreamt very toilsome in green
its assurance upon the javelin of its mother
To pontificate upon the sad remembrences of humankind
The failed empires, the Ottoman, the Roman
They live still in haunted coves of libraries
Or buried like roots in ossariums forever
Sources are insanity , to love a trickling of amber honey to blame sunlight upon it's vein
Or crying out loud in a crowded hallway that you've been sentenced to death
up loud upon an uproar
As finally, when at last grim reaper must emerge whetting his sickle , when we to enter upon this novel year , maquette panelled in graffitti of the apocalypse, we ford to vault,
We shall hang, in the vast well as we cry out to our screaming mothers