The first snow coldness is felt underneath humid vaults. Gathered martyrs read aurum from the saint brothers’ bodies. Just they broke torches above innovators. Way of bloodless redemption. Loveliness panegyrists. Fathered in the same bosom. However they don’t feel the identical light-spectrum. The fathers, stuffed themselves with pride, sated with gluttony of selves glory, can’t see beyond paradise portals already. There is yellow clay and blood beneath finger-nails. As the pain hasn’t been enough. In candlelight luminous I close myself to macabre tower again. Candlewick-lightning uncover my chest and fear gulp daredevilry. But next blind head is decapitated, another knees are scrunched. Throng maffick all around. This tragedy is lined with saintly river’s stones-in-tons. So why we don’t go tell them truth! I gulp snow coldness. Thinking about our fathers’ oration. Know, must find out any way to break the curtain. |
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