Some Blank Verse, In Which I Indirectly State That The Sunlight Fills The Room

Th’eternal throes of Uriel fly – flame –
‘cross the deep ‘n cold expanse, blackened void
beyond the fence that’s facing – tinted blue –
and crest the vap’rous wisps that wend, awash
amongst our wavy sky, its riv’ring stream
of currents pierced by risen beams of gold
a-gath’ring breadth abreast a bright’ning morn.
Now mourned’s the passing peace of night, its flight
flown with the scorching licks of star-fire at
its torn ‘n frayed heels: “Haste! Away!” the
dread, dire solar disc demands, its killing
claim to consume this oh so brazen rock,
colonised by em’rald life, its reaching
shoots grasping for the furnace – font of heat.
Now slowed’s the ancient agony, the star’s
screams to the indifference of chaos,
reaching, as it is, the pane of moulded
ash ‘n quartz that’s ‘glyphed in abstract symbols,
tearing colour from the vital fluid.
White’s the weary echo th’grants me vision.


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