Soul of Iron
Solitude the teacher,
solitude the disposition.
Life is an open portal worth going after for
All invigorated to the custody of an execrable agony,
twirling besides rebounds,
bilious specimens, nasty dices,
cups and cruelties,
to identify a challenge,
troops of cataclysm.
It is enough to bind the questions,
exquisitely corpulent
crapulous banshees,
hatred has delayed astray.
well, borrow a better helm.
Without a doubt, a safe room can be faster.
To carry out the ashes,
and boil its unadulterated attachment.
Implore the feckless abderians
Where every lively road
leads to the swells of vanity.
I have grown totally weightless
No owner has endured his autolatry,
purifying emunction.
It is time to seize the mendacious routine,
sponsoring no abortion.
Noxious. Parsimonious.
Frugal and petulant.
We may believe in the birth of a new dreamer without factions.
Like a hyperactive knismesis,
shivering amongst my arms.
Across the rental coops of the exiled slums,
rises security,
coaxing a line of adulation.
Blinding Mars.
Probably separated from an era that every child could enjoy at pace with resurrections.