Unfettered Feathers Fall, for Icarian Autumn Hills Sitting Tall

“The sublimed sky dies by fleshless suicide. The most viscous wine coagulates by the venomous tongues of the very snakes near our grassy estuary. Through solace, I found lingering Luciferian lullabies. Like trees without leaves, or combs without bees, I still sense a missing jocundity. Nevertheless my mind wanders. Morose be the lips who cast the first curse toward the crystallization of madness, in forlorn longing. Cannot make sense, but I grudgingly accept the mirrored eternity through the milky eye far off the blind side...for now only. Like the winds, or like the seasons, a perspective awaits its metamorphosis. The reciprocation is nigh as night in dusky twilight bliss. It is not like the blackest black or whitest white, but grey as dreary day fading to foggy night”. Meditation on a hilltop, a feather falls on my head My heart and soul dismisses as I savor the slice of bread Then the winds sprint like the horse-riders of yore Like in the old eve of war...