Feathers of birds
drip to dirt.
Nails of men
elevate North.
Rusty scythes entwine them.
The golden horn muses them.
As the youth taste them
only the old feels them.

Candle lit hallways see them.
A grey cat senses them

Nails of birds
elevate to dirt
Feathers of men
drip North.

Axiomatic paradigms cling to hearts
and salt drips in blood.
Faltering flight, crooked neck,
cold hands.
Eat with them tonight.

O, gentle and humble men,
sworn swords!
By the pages of the divine fact
fight; sorrows may wait.
Let not thy material blind thee
but allow worldly silence suffocate
thy sense.

Eateth only the bread of the Lord.
Bringeth only the head
of them that lay in bed
while ragged dogs
**** the air and clogs
with brutal false held time
They bark.
They whimper.
They squeal.
Hear not their sorrow
But cling to that fate
which behold the divine
and holy.

Nailed feathers of birds
drip to dirt.
Feathered nails of men
elevate North.