Newspaper, 3D Flares as messengers, Compassionate whispers, and so always will be, A sunrise with no light, as thunders brush our sight Of auras in waves or curses now bind, Hiding behind what flips in a clash, For a chance to dig a impression Within music, notes in which will cage A realm of towers with the murmurs of scholars, Where vengeance behind brilliance Is but a resonance In the turbulence of oil and chaos. So swords never cross before a shield to smite, Alike vigilance buried alive, When magic weaves in the base of heaven Beating the smoke of mirth and forgetfulness, Only a fan of feather can sweep away What linen blinding a child, Gamblers, exorcists, preachers to name, Thus by crushing your shoulder, From the purest white derives a garden of corpse. For it is what rains that brings pain, dust and dirt that drains A gentle grip, a sacrifice, a shovel, Drenching along where plates links as chain, Mud under trees is but a board That drowns the bravest French knights, While bows and arrows Carve porcupines from rumors beyond time. Autumn leaves that paints a scene of silence Draws its path by a pen. War itself needs no sparks of metal, Crows up high waiting for all tides to settle. Towers now torn, so leave a school as ruin, As a sea of words which mauls and shatter, So logs a scratch beyond a mariners delight. Maybe for those who sits and watch The best of plots behind the ingenious thoughts That dilution is the mark, Points and poundings, so divinity still hides In the hall of feast and bloodlust combined. 2006/10/07 -- ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Let not a drop of desire Disturb the heart in ripples ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ --

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