The night was a state of the state,
Its interior walls beckoned a ghost,
Its well-being was a knighthood.
My artists are like a gender,
To see a mountain is too many sights,
Yet you must believe in the nights of gold,
When rigours absorb the sea and the sea
Helps your penniless banks of money.
The queen of the day is a mine or world,
The wordy person is a richer mayhem,
Those perpetrating sin are collected in sums.
A person hesitates to overthrow the first man,
He gave birth to himself by some inclination;
A woman was then derived by actual art,
And the pair were a married couple before dawn.
The tracks of swords are omniscient,
Difficult to behold, hard to distill,
Unarguably all-powerful like the created
Beings stirred by imagined spirits.
Some of the mathematicians reside in bed,
Their occupations demand a religion to make,
Their prayers state the ultimate ends,
For the experts of the field too much.
The heart smiles smartly in layers of kindness
This time in the present, when the witches
Surmount the dark skies shimmering with moon.
Of this side there are solids and liquids,
The turn is your turn in this sleep,
It deceives your pleasure when
The goings of dreams are tougher
Than a look into the reposed beings.
He mastered nothing of irony,
Not even words on a page running
Away like careful notes of the pen.
He followed the leaders and readers
They smell the grass and enlighten their lives,
They feel the harsh water of the livid sea,
They fight and tighten a raft after the record,
And then the fists are turned in the direction