Blossoms rose beneath twisted limbs
Wrapped around still bones
Still in the encagement of a clock
Shrouded monasteries left stagnant on your dried up lips
As our blood vow lay fallen on this sleeping Earth- that lulled us to sleep with it
What were the words of the sermon that led us barefoot in the night?
That sermon that spilled off the windswept lips of Zephyrus, who carried this light
— The End —