The Sopwith Camel, its underbelly sun up in the deserted crimson hued field, an abandoned relic of a sturgeon’s flight, annihilated by visions in reckless clouds of thunder amidst the almost delicate horizon, flashes nearly chaotic in jest and folly, remorseless, spinning, diving, whirling magnates, pulling steel wrapped terror eyed wander lusts to tragedy’s epiphany. The end of sanity’s foreboding, resolution fire drawn on a pallet of angel blue sky, warped destiny, deceptive motives, a sailor’s lofty jargon, bets on silhouette candle flame that poise teetering on insult, rife with poison caulk, tapestry’s silk foyer to hell’s fervor. Such is the ratification of endowed salvation. – Sinz
