Wrestle the thoughts at the ages’ sea, tide weary among soldiers’ warfare struggles,
the limp beggars swoon in the heat of relentless pleasure in acrimony.
Sought after, the Trildian Summer wreaks havoc on blood folk.
But The Unknown feels all forever in the vast. The Emperor Of Shiloh is
masked in sown cloths too. Ask for the foundation to weakness and crumble
in the platitudes of foregone saturns. This twist is sure.
Find the source and the question broadens in perspective.
The answer is yes to the little bird, and no to the monster-clawed behemoth. – Sinz