Unholy favors hum spells of my distant
prayers,
Hauling whirlwinds of forbidden words
Blundered in my fate of arrogance.
Questioning eyes gleam daring me
Towards lingering advantages of wasted youth,
Blood-stained gravel and tombstones.
But what a rash clock,
Cupped hands holding violent tears,
Nudged by rare urges and impotent devilry?
What mighty and calm shadows
Anchor their arrivals
On symphonies of my strange dust?
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