Sixteen hooves clatteredToward Pennsylvania Ave.,Sixteen hundred. Pale Rider approached theGolden king of fire, whoBowed his head and knelt. Weeping and gnashingHis teeth, he cried “at
“Our father is oldhe has a young one, best lovedonly son of his Mother. His brotheris dead. Don’t take him, please. Wewill give you our
Born into exile, I walk among the pillars Where our heroes fell. My head is bowed, yet Unbroken am I. I watch, Listen, learn secrets
Drove I into theHospital parking lot andThree women stood by The wall, enshawled andWailing. Against the wall theyBeat their fists, and they Entreated their GodFor
He always wanted Something worth dying for. But He was alive, in Spite of himself. He Wondered if the French Foreign Legion would take him.
Vision has become Tessellated by a mesh, Overlapping lines. Was it always this Way? Hard to tell. Yes/no. Binary logic. It goes or it does