Glaciaxion

(Excerpt from a Phigros Project) For once you were a wandering organism, With no religion, yet received a baptism. Like white vines on a holy stone atop the firmament, With the order the sword was drawn out of sheath. How I wish the ice would be scattered by an axe from the heavens, And hunger would no longer haunt the abyss. the child listened, thought and sighed, "Build a tower to challenge the sky."

Escape. Now that the rainbow fades, Where, Where else might it stay? Where there be Fragrance inside the posies, Echoes beneath the memories, Spirits from the awakened, Dreams above the illusions, There be my home.

Glaciaxia, melting. Chasing the sun went the birds o' gods, Beneath the poem shone the lights and howls. A bird summoned by the spring, A sword glittered for the win. Met at the summit, chased with the winds, Down fell the feathers, in rain they rinsed. A tongue that twisted, two shadows there stood, The firmament above touched the recital at foot. Listen, Mount Sierra, coiled by the wind - What was she saying? Why was she crying? The floods unleashed mercy to no being, The milk spilt needed no regretting. Should we rest, may we wait, Not too far the chance awaits.

Coo, coo, coo, Bubble, bubble, bubble. Fine fish skin with boiled white apple, take a sip and let your spirits free. A string twanged as a spur of the moment, wonder why someone would become addict. For decades long there was no music but the sound of death near the river. Please just stay at my humble house, and detail what wind blew you here.

Do people's identities really hold any value… Whoever lives owns a name, Whoever dies owns a name. For fame beings live, For what the dead prolong? Would they, if ever, be reborn?