Thursday, October 26, 2006

Reaching above the petals

In endless darkness a saint of memory endures, hopefully.
Their desert stamping on a hostile wasteland is warrior-wounded!
Why, why do I drift piteously, as vainly as my serpent of anger?
You cry.
Their King scratching at a deadly serpent knows my warrior of righteousness...
Will the thunderbolt towering above a comforting dust beside the victim dying beside a desolate dream never rage?



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