groomed among myths...
i am flowing words
like the dripping edges of a monarch's robe
etched in language uncertain
telling where the mind with the feet must go
spitting fire,refining waste.
i speak myth...
and the whirlwind bent to offer obeisance
widening its palms in reception of scrolls
...scrolls inscribed in fury stance
conveyed in cryptic signs the ancient spoke
I lived on quaint oaks...
yet like dry leaves,fell on black soil
among them that yearn for portends of 'lux'
unable to hold what i to the soul purvey
my stature they loathe and to it they quail
I dazzle the mind..
I lure dreams to dusk,
I am mystery.
-Chris.F.Lucid
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