Streams of mists stratus, endless,
Reds, blues conned, from corneas,
Weight of clouds, smother soulless,
Chirps, warbles, silenced in apnea.
Cover of coolness, rage in presence,
Energies strike and leave for dead,
Colorless still, and void the absence,
Pea soup fog, seduced Sol, then fled.
Cloudless, sky-less, this empty canvas,
Nor warmth or cold, nor word or breath,
The stars, slaughtered in darkening novas,
Twilight fades, the god mourns Ashtoreth.
A stream, crimson, cupped, to lips, taken,
A stone soul, a name called to awaken.
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