07-24-2021, 08:02 AM
The sun is hatched, its yoke half-bared,
corralling minions from their roost,
That tarp of dark hung grand to spare
the flooded eye from light's dour truth.
Decamp! and rouse a pliant stem,
I suckle on paralysis,
and tithing to the poppy's phlegm,
On teats of steel my soul subsists.
I would not fling this solar cyst
into Inferno's deepest pit
corralling minions from their roost,
That tarp of dark hung grand to spare
the flooded eye from light's dour truth.
Decamp! and rouse a pliant stem,
I suckle on paralysis,
and tithing to the poppy's phlegm,
On teats of steel my soul subsists.
I would not fling this solar cyst
into Inferno's deepest pit