In the very beginning.
There was blight.
From the bottom of the cavern.
Came The Light.
Forming matter out of fumes, and
shards of particles,
not yet aligned.
Or decoded...
A droplet of scorching magma
sealed up the place.
Set in stone are your examples.
Perpetuated as statues,
live the tryouts.
No more chances.
Left to chance, perchance, to find us.
A pool of conspicuous
demands...
Draw your circle, choose the stick,
of your tempered choosing,
draws it near,
your drawing better be clear
as it stacks up.
It's protection, yet to harm us,
enough to charm
the energy
to harm 'em...
All synced, to mysterious pulls
and decimated faunas.
I can't become,
what's your problem -don't discern-
with how The Globe
ever keeps
spinning.
No one's left
to broom it out,
tears froze, on impact to the ground.
Their crystals
shatter the whole structure.
Forth.
The Pale Rider switches
its advances.
For.
The sky's raining lead
and smoke again.
No one left
to hear them but the ground
to bury them
nameless.
But not forgotten.
No dead left, to snuff the kisses.
Of all mothers, as they cry,
and then She whispers
to The World
-not ready to hear screams of battle as
retaliation to no totems-
they whimper to...
As the sand
proceeds to swallow
them all up to the vocal.
Chords
strain themselves
dead.
Tired, too late to choose a pattern.
It's but extortion, of
The Grail:
For the streets shall shower them with Sun.
As Light to them shall bring the pain.
The starkly moments before it
dares to strike again.
It crumbles
into
pi ece
s .
Hear them calling, but for now.
Ignore the pleas, as they hear Her roaring...
Excited as the centuries unfold
upon the dirt behind us.
Their same tracks all over,
and over again
inside the mud around us.
The symphony claims victory's
Conquest.
As it refurbishes the space
beside us...
It's a story that never
truly ripens.
It's Death, its rein.
From inside The Caravan.
Onward, The Fourth shall ride again,
as soon as The Plains burn...
Ever more vibrant.
The Moment
Relocates its area.
As Shadow
prepares the settings.
For The Saddest Spectacle.
Ever.
The screens are hungrier
to concede a spot
behind the highlight.
A stomach's full once it's had
its partner's...
The Sand growls quieter.
Not more for languor.
The Atmosphere can't take
much more tries
of onslaught.
The wail of countless voices
are only there...
To witness.
What's inside Us.
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