The whispers of a strained echo, 
Floating dupiously over the fatal breath 
Devouring the pulp of sunset's solace, 
And keeping the night's chiselled rest. 
The migrated melancholy from the star's 
darkness, 
Rescued the fixed legs from the sullen dream 
While the swollen steps to the lord's vision, 
Crippled the scraping corners of the deviant 
grin. 
Hovering through the races unbegun, 
Tapered over the moon's tales of lost sands 
Towards the innocent crumble of the dusty dusk, 
Where the lush shades of soul's zodiac stand. 
Where the spilled ash turned its course, 
There rose the nascent evening glades 
Chasing the fleece of their voices, 
Cuddling their own joyful aches are the 
HEAVEN MAIDS.

updated by @americymru: 11/18/16 10:02:54PM