Life. A polyester paradigm
Where angels drink with sailors.
Poets drown in swirling rhymes
With wine from drunken tailors.
This world is not for one as you
With Starry Nights beheld.
Nor you for it with frostfire hue
Your demon’s song. Compelled.
Sunset falls with ragged grace
And hurls us at the windmills.
Tumbling at Gregorian pace,
We rush toward the sawmills.
And when at last the moon descends
And calls you home to sleep.
No more these walls must you defend
For peace you now can keep.
© Brandewulf 2018