I write things that the Gods whisper to me.
A series of grave and prosperous letters.
Through the flickering of the leaves on a sun glazed day, I see within their shadows and let the savage beasts take my pen.
Writings from other worldly seasons.
Hidden in the darkness of underground railroads and held high over the nations flags.
If your lucky you might hear them in an old bunker, or sitting in a steeple in some old chapel.
Only a fool would dismiss this. The fool is that of a stubborn hog;A Hermit by choice.
The hierophant holds the sword. He is all- knowing.
You and I both know he is the virtuous one.
At dawn I awoke in restless ecstasy and felt the queen arise from her slumber.
"Great, worthy world" she sang!.
It was then that the rain met the sun and began to shower over mother nature's germens.
Through a summers' cloud Daughter Diana continued to take her course.
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