The HaruspexMature

I'm inherit lines of curious sorts;
I've adopted title expression, your livelies I'll cut them out now.
I remember coming second, but who's my predecessor?
There is no market in vanishing, got a knack to disappear from-
My priority; The bachelor has found suspicious clay,
Malform you- all burden kind to pay with their lives.
Do not tell me that I have no culture, right?
Don't trace me back, you'll find no heritage.
What tradition, your invisible means to get by?
On an understatement; that die logotype- little wool, lot of cries.
Dead thunder reaps deaf ears in beautiful monotony,
Black lightning strikes blind eyes and then it's gone;
Never to return no matter what- device nothing.
Still essence will echo you; you'll need a miracle, a living proof or two.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed