eclipse Posted June 15, 2014 Share Posted June 15, 2014 All sides pursue a parallax,inject dyeinto history's eye the propaganda isrefined. Death's view is fixed from land,sea,sky.A row of graves death's deft hands cannot miss,he strokes them like piano keys, I dig this lastgrave the sounds of war drive me to the coreI encounter earthly wounds. In a blasthe lost his face my last burial beforesirens sound. Where will my last client find hisdeath mask?-do the staircases to heaven andhell intersect?-reflecting the shared abyssall sides swap death masks. Incarnated from sandsout of the desert of ideology fascistsremain on war- wait for their alchemist. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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