The over flowing mug,
frothy filled promise of painless arrival of what is to come,
at the banquet table of the conquerors...
as dawn breaks with a glancing peek of a horrified sun,
The morning vibrate with one and thousand voices,
Makes ready the world drenched of holy troubled blood,
Offerings of prosperous generosity... adorned with all desirable eternal blessings,
as long as
the sky is in length,
as ageless as
all that is under the heaven,
Chicken posed as if
in flight of a clumsy naked phoenix,
contortionist Pigs' stone like smile,
an expression never she learned...
or ever were so inclined,
frozen in mirth of impossible mortified dexterity,
that equals flex and stretch of any first of acrobats under heaven...
Stiff as the honored deities casting golden illusions,
Of almost sparkling blood red ruby vision...
in rings of precious fruits blessed by the same seasonal sun,
floating on a sea of smoke...
spewed by fiery tips on fragrant dusty incense,
all in expected line greeting red hot embers,
transforming in such tear dry suddenness...
that all still stood in pious powdered reverence,
till a turn in the wind releases them...
to the deafening rumble of distant memories,
rekindled again in fantastic postures of the deities cast in bronze...
faces forever fixed from appeased and content moulds,
till the conqueror's gaze readies again to claim,
the heat of cold blue steel,
has hunger and thirst to fulfill...
~third_eye @SHaYAP©
2011 version
*edit * forced conclusion
Source: the conqueror's gaze
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