But these Eyes which fall on words inevitably unwritten,
Resonates absurdity's fingertips,
A delayed abomination,
Dancing with harlequins in their ring of retribution,
sing out with a poet’s mocking:
‘Fear your mistress/fear your maiden,
Decorated in her daisy chain of souls,
And silver to her bones from stone cold matinees’,
With Carnal thirst for the cruel phantoms
Who patrol like clockwork within a cell patterned cathedral,
Chanting monologues pairing their patience with promise,
In Shadows behind the collar they hide,
With convulsive voices knotting the synapses like shoelace,
This Fruitless curiosity meets with defeat,
The divine torture of invisibility argued with nihility,
Running blood of a guardian and a watcher's ghost,
With whom do they divulge their surrender to?
An anonymous force or a non-existent one?
Maybe they refute the toxic plains of prayer,
Maybe it is their duty to be timekeepers not lovers,
