you, if not; if not, you

Ego beaded gold drips from the sun

Hold as the alter of celebration

A journey, inncorruptible and true

Worth hums in every last while

As a potent and brilliant evil pushes at the created shapes

Of a pure fleece left out to dry

Untitled moments of divination

Tired soles still may impregnate the wind

How much blood ought you owe

For the pursuit of a just rebellion

The skies remain in awe of your revolutions