Time will come, my friend, that each flower will bloom at dusk. And, trembling from the denizen’s deep, the mad dogs will cower.
Understand though, I will never give the reigns to the steadfast horse of fortune’s demise. The rock strewn trail of mercy ends in silence, as the doves retreat, and the sword of the just comes down on my flickering light.
From the trickling brook, deny me.
The safflowers have sown their seed to the wind. The gaurded basin reliquishes its turmoil. The havoc often mesmerises me.
Such children that play in the sun, and cry in the dark, are forgotten. And the dilemma of uncertainty overtakes the dark passenger on the swift empty train that disappears in the shadow of a sparrow’s dream. – Sinz