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And so it is that
From whence the dusk of slumber
Came, arose the palest thunder
In their eyes, once
Sane
Flushed of mortal strife
I lay with them
And bear my life
Without this manly
Disdain, which in social time
Grows upon the earth, branch and vine
Uprooting foundations,
Kindling frustrations,
Sinfully smiling gaping
Cracks
Whilst the manly heart
Attacks
In acceptable
Vain
So my bretherin of late
Resting, reside in our dirt
View me cast my fate,
View me drain your hurt
Irony lives my
Pleasure
In your frigid
Lung
For i find no
Treasure
In the words
That living men have sung
poem
by
Aven Black
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