DISTANT STARLIGHT SHONE
In the distance starlight shone, leagues so far away, a liquid fart from arse was blown, well, it really sprayed…
The Keeper stirred from numbed sleep, he swatted at his head, at nightmare shapes that crawl and creep, to make him reel instead…
From knowing any sense of calm at imminence, the fact of endings resolute, as the proof of his incontinence, raised unto air pollutes…
Fairest skies and fair ideals, in fleeting frames they had achieved, he and friends to render real, the grace that they believed…
Defines all creatures great and small, from snizziphant to lord, amid the torrent hear the call, mortal infected chord…
He scratched at hollowed, vacant eyes, his ravens perched at shelter’s cross, three hosts at rail, e’er at his side, despite his arschen sauce…
Within a hovel in the fields, a shelter for the night, for whate’er days and nights may yield, he feted his loss of sight…
Better not to see at all, regret life’s fatal touch, the pattern is to rise then fall, such is the mortal's way…
He stretched and dripped it down his leg, that strained noxious juice, to which the wise would plead and beg, for e'en the briefest truce…
After a spell with his head still thick, ‘twixt sleeping and some mythic dawning, he was sure that his sodden cloak wouldn’t stick, then his farts gave awkward way to yawning…
But no sun yet, the stygian hours, never more alone nor far away, he had known want, as bees know flowers, delights that never stay…
Stretched at the pile, clothes strewn on soiled hay, wondering at the leagues or miles, ‘twixt there and sky’s doorway…
In aspect clear, but mired in the murk, not until boy and friends were no longer near, did he fully understand the work…
That lay ahead of all of them, in a world where dross pervades, ideals extol and hate condemn, from foulness now dissuade…
A mantra Keeper spoke aloud, whilst picking at a stringy snot, wont to slip eternal shroud, of lives long spent without…
Grace is calling, hear it sure, the dawn not far behind, you left your friends for need of more, time to save sublime…
Whilst somewhere stirring beyond veils, time is never clear to men, Kronos shuffles off the scales, of too long letting them…
abuse...
make a mockery of how it’s…
used…
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