While Awaiting the end of the world
I recite to myself, and then out loud, the prose of my mind, while I look for a sign of acknowledgment from anywhere and search for a place to relax in quiet and comfortable slumber -- awaiting the end of the world.
Summon me, in the shadow of longing that is your name, and I will lie down upon this Earth and howl at the moon, despite the lunar eclipse, leaving confusions to work themselves out in yet another form.
Bring to me, upon the words of madness, a dove, and speak not of old tales of fancy and things that have never been. Stay true, in the magic of such things, and speak freely of that which bled coldly on the crossroads of indecision while angels’ repelled cries of harm, and victory to whom the spoils go.
For he who does right for rights sake and not the ego of men, has in him strength of bone of brain, and it is he who walks amongst the unicorns and turtles. And let it be this day, even if the shadow casts me out in that moment when eternity is full, that I would come to know this, above all things.
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