For This Beauty, Beauty Without Strength, Chokes

We Are Voyagers, Discoverers Of The Not-known, The Unrecorded; We Have No Map; Possibly We Will Reach Haven, Heaven.

Thoth, Hermes, The Stylus, The Palette, The Pen, The Quill Endure, Though Our Books Are A Floor Of Smouldering Ash Under Our Feet.

Passionate Grave Thought, Belief Enhanced, Ritual Returned And Magic.

Why Wait For Death To Mow? Why Wait For Death To Sow Us In The Ground?

I Had Drawn Away Into The Salt, Myself, A Shell Emptied Of Life.