They have seen the thing themselves…
Rusted and wicked in its age
Detonating with seconds, amassed
Broken and willing occupation
Tender, yielding, and final
Just in its unattainable yearning
Scented in lavender and lilac
Impossible in the shadow of itself
Hidden amidst our frenzy
Typical as the mean
Complete before its beginning
Tense against its own boundaries
Lavish and arrayed in dread
Waking to the tremor of its pulse
Upright against the spiked angle
Stark as the moon in its declension.
