Brine and Outrage of the Distant Brethren

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Denuding the wintry scales

of a dragon loved in empty disgrace

did bring oblivion to its knees ‘fore the arch-way of self-rendition.

The elusive symptom summoned the tidal wave

of the titan in emerald turnt gray.

“No more stone frontage!”, cried the oracle behind the stage,

“Harness the glory of the sunken race

as the triple head of sovereignty manifest”.

“It is dangerous”, I said, “a peril and terror of the earthly depth”.

“I know the wraith’s caress”, the oracle emerged more or less;

“The ice age preserved the pulsations of the roots’ remains.

Silver and mercurial in sentiment,

he whose path is marked by watchful consciousness is bound to rule

or die by his own intellect”.

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