I say to my sister, “do you have a task”? That one braid of summer’s breath, then, as if it were now, falls on the shoulder, of mercy, and weeps, in the depths of remorse. Fragile symbiot, sage of sorrow.
Do I regret our morning of last repair, when singlets were of sentiment, and the now distant ripples, on rivers in gloom, languished in the nocturn?
In so much I cannot recall, nor enlighten. The current has pulled, and twisted. The depth, has no bottom. All is for the builder. The plunder is in the task.
They of less, redeem the calcified remnants of an otherwise faithless hegemony, that which denies the spectum of hope to the resilient few, those like you who shatter faiths empire, crush the mechanics of nature’s folly, the interlude is the entirety of the play.- Sinz