Myth

Voice a phrase for the mills,

singing days on burning hills.

Marble patterns of ancient grace,

soft Saturn in our unfolded place.

Wander roads on midnight scenes,

ponder modes of castle greens.

Hymn of darkness in a velvet sleeve

destroy the light from which they believe.

Tell the soldiers their final fate;

cataclysm at the city gate.

Laid on silk sheets divine,

deed of drunkards spilt holy wine.

Meander in the colored phase

and bathe under starlight rays.

Tell the priestess of her epic psalm

then carve an eye in your fragile palm.

Echoing proverb among the forest calm.

Reviews

[.Raymond]

very inviting. impressive work. deep in meaning. check out my stuff. you can also recommend to others. thanks

[Hawkmoth]

Wow! Amazing work, brought such vivid images to my mind!