Of the things under the sun beseeching
the sound of the windscrews abhorrent at best
the kaleidoscopic instances of suffused memoriam
of abstract creatures within and without
Awakening.
One eye open, because there will never be another.
The Captain remembers the why
Rising, stumbling, raising his alchemy to the sky
remembrance of the raven, rabbit, even the lion
they had to burn upon the pyre
"Take wheat and barley, ghosts or gods, millet and spelt; put them in a storage jar made of felt."
And although everything has not been seen nor done.
"I will not be the last one".
Something something drabble-side... I'll challenge with antirevolutionist
Kommentit
Tämän blogin kommentit tarkistetaan ennen julkaisua.