Thirdmoon Velvet Thorns
The eerie God Fulgent dust the prelude of the drowning sun Bloodstained sculptures across amorphous reliefs The angelic blaze; ancient their silent choirs Torn apart the pure aorta of apathy Dissolution of gentle seas, the lost brilliance Hateshaped the billow of thorns How should I enthrone my pain I have no more tears that embrace my pure parfum seduced my by mournful gale the blood will never return I have no more weeps that caress the stoned heart at one with a mournful tear Artesian well the aphorism in it is deep Aura of aghast bane the disburden of azure Diurnal sleep the eerie bloodstained God
