Sharp magnetic intrusion
interrupts infertile stance
of solemn drifters weeping
at seas of desolation's initiation.
To a parallel palace of ennui awaits
their calling of unforgiven reveries.
In one, among the raining numbers
signals the horror of the rightful befallen stage.
Next is the nativity of rapture,
the Shiva of our dreams.
Behold their legged besetting beauty
but benign in strides of the hidden
voices, faces of the sky.
One is the sand in the typeface melted stone.
Forged is the future of our impending thought.
Birthed is the unwelcome portraits in our home.
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