The bittersweet last dregs,
Of the Kings last glass of wine,
Reflect small worlds,
And cosmoses;
Only to be seen in those,
Quiet moments,
When the sun is but a dream,
In the canvas of the sky.
When the stars become fond,
Memories of the moon.
The worlds unravel into beings
And beings become sparks of light
As the draught is swilled
And swallowed by
A man who controls fates.