Masons of the Martyrdom

Coronets of logic Steel mounted, Crowns, Helms ; Kings, Slaves... Morphing relatively to mundane prowess Ensues to martyrdom's aspiration In ultimate equivocation which henceforth Glimmers through the Spiritual Firmament ethereal, 'Less death be looked upon as the sky... Behold The hammer: A grey morning with the sun still set in earth's womb... A blanket where within you be, not warm, but cold&damp, Cloud besets an early morning heath. Olive coloured moss covered ruins Gloomingly appear as you awaken from this grey sleep, Only to the unvailing of a silence perforating Emptyness into your soul, Like a blacksmith hammering blades so true, Alas the ringing of hammer on anvil eerily Unborn from thein chitenous whole. Stars unmade to the black nothingness That only brick conceals, Darkness reveals thoughts of the clergy As they proclamate that they tell no lie... The logic mounted by knights of square tables Ride from Masked Hell's high, To call forth the solar system's center To banish all myst away. Bringing together the tools of the martyrdom, The hypocrytes true desire, I subjectively sit watching, Bleeding my spirit into the world's foundation despirately dire.

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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