A Grey Sigh in a Flower Husk
I see through this demise The hallowed serpent unwise. He is learned in the ways of decay, And he shone as winter's dawn fades. As brazen as the turn of the tide, And certain as our season fades. So fill your cup to the hilt, Hew and sew our crops anew, Rest and wake and comprehend faith. So toil, that this haze unfolds, And pray that this harvest decays
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 26, 2025
Four seed forest, laurels fade. Thrice fed famine, balance made. The cycle has begun. Closure of an age Becomes the season of the spirit When the air is rent in two, And bone and blood have forgotten. C'est le temps de la Saison rouge de la terre. The fire of night blinds the seed unchained. Then. now. ever. again. The will to rise is out of turn. Electric storm will strip it clean. It is a boiling and dripping burn To taste the solar flare and see. You will never see this season burn.
Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 26, 2025
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