Do we fall
Before they grow old or
Were ever even born to be felled?
The stock still Tellurian laud
In mode of passion
Specific not yet pacific;
Or are we pushed? whilst
Love is left to rot and the
Vast xoanon pap unmanifest
To cede within the catacombs
Cooking carrots and peas in the same ***
Like a Hymn of Ascent
As you cannot shake hands with
A clenched fist or Angels breath
Upon purities ruination,-
Hells favourite fable
A fairy-tale admist humanity
A nursery rhyme at will
Memorized by demons
Of the helved simony
Forsakenly told of
The souls nexus and an
Enchanted book writ in heaven
Owned by God.


ELEETE J MUIR