.
Ancient games
tell tales of dust.  |||   A story drawn
from the lips of two poets.


~~~~~


It's the wits that ****, not Queens of ivory or ink. *
Charged with coal strokes, scraping up the lies.
Pawns & Knights slip between the grasp of the sun, leaking into   lion jaws of Leo.
Shifting these granite plates, ignoring the Rooks common price of aslant.
Here we have slain kin, crescent traitors that backstab the night and battlefield.
Closed doors and trap floors, trade me a tie, swindling your tactic ruts.
Reality never got the noose around our necks, check turned into manslaughter, and kingdoms ripped asunder by the roar of Jupiter
Get up, get up, get away from these liars, they can't have your rank or your fire.
Peak a notion, this match is spared by a luft.
Toss away the pride buried 'neath your dusty skin, it don't matter no more if   death has you by the lips.
Silence is a language too in our eyes of earth.
Take my hand, knott your soul into this downfall, and brace yourself for the wreckage in our bones.
The Sword of Sorrows will fall 'pon your shoulders, not to slay thee, but to dub thee a new day.
The drums of war will knit the lyrics in the sky,
singing:
"The mighty sharpen their fangs, the weak sharpen their wisdom"
~~~~~
I'm tired of your wishbones, and golden scales, give me the hard-earned truth.
Hot coals of honesty may you tread upon, shadow-bitten remorseful may you be, don't stray off the course of Ursa major.
The North star isn't the one I follow
It's the moon with all of it's phases,
Eclipsing and crescent, tipping the sky with it's beauty.
Now let this sink further than any soul has ever sunk,
no man could ever
rule the moon.
~~~~~~
Shoot on command,
C
h    
      e
c  
      k
m
a
t      
e
~~~~
You could drag me to hell and back and those words wouldn't mean anything.
Let this downfall become a *downfell,
Because last I checked
"Wolves worship the moon"
and I have broke it's reflection in the water
Just
by
throwing
s                    
t          
o
         n
                 e
                              s
                               ­        .
.

.
Grey
Blinds
Claw
○○○
At,
Subjects
Of
G­reek
Moonlight
●●●
A
parade
of
death.
○○○
Weep
Like
The
Fors­aken
Poetry,
●●●
"you truly are. "
.

.
"You have your father's eyes, they're full of nothing but truth."
Ah,
So that's why they're so ugly.
.

.
The lips of war will not determine which constellation you slaughter.
I've knotted tears into the dead sea, I'm still crying for
you
If a god could see us now
~~~~~
they'd see nothing but ink
flesh and stardust.

and maybe
an eclipse
if we the souls
aligned.
.