In the svelte hours of night, pounding thoughts beheld me, I laid as if brutalizing by the mass of the heaven's luminous stride. I love that throbbing tameness of sky, with a beauty that calls up with in me hordes of timeless warriors, debarred with in lovely cowls. A shiver of embarkment reverberates, testing the further path's keep. What a thrill of wondrous beauty, oh such a strange beautiful love I held. The sky, it is an enormous swallow to cope with, but I cope. Opening, gate to the worlds, I feel, as opening shows the fragrance the nose can not ingest, the fragrance the mind delights upon like an exotic intoxication, foreign but bountiful in ecstasy. The stars impaling flickers, dodder from their homes, Flouting all moments of life, and taking them on by the millions like seconds, ancient men seated on icy throwns. Where is the sword of Damiocles, how sharp is the sword now, like the tooth of an infant, it can not glint in threat. Afloat on the waters of the night, the debis-filled dreams crust over the present, delightfully fragile. The shimmering declivities, the smirking waves, swash again and again instantly content, not knowing their own strength as my being fractures crushed from it's swashbuckler ways, the sky...it's wrenching purpose, determined intentions only are to hover over the humble foot stool of God.
