Morning Salivations

In sight of endless night,

wells of love taint the core of immemorial stone.

The Warlock knows not

the curse wrought upon his shores.

Lucid-willed, his mind weaves reveries

as poison daggers of double leaf,

stranger to the blast that has ever deigned to breath.

“Fool!” Hissed the viper from the depths of blood-begotten streams.

“Leave the silence undisturbed.

The hoarfrost resides unthawed in fatal fire unresolved.

Thou wilt the heavens of unnatural approach

and thy insolence will be the cause of thy severed soul,

buried six feet under the white nightmare of the world.”

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