You see this land is the heart and hearth –
of which legends, of which legions?! The
unblemished regime that passed out into
the memory of the universe. It was retained!
No forgotten history consigned to palliative care!
We are stones of a fortress forever; as we dare!
Do you think bravery can be cubicled by conspiring ghosts
who swing through slimy ghettos of connivance?
Men with no spirit, but souls that were divined
by wickedness. Their blaspheme of all originality,
severing the beginning’s begotten – flesh of the wombs
of all creation. You can smell the adversities in the
presence of illegitimate chieftains of wanton, with their cutthroat
blades. If we may choose to resurrect those destroyed?
Can you hear their whispers on a thin dawn, coming from
the core of the universe; lubricating the entrance
of the future, undulating against the raucous shout of present
conventionality? Would you be the deluge’s advocate
or would you spring-clean your hedgerow for the
May Queen for the return of those `sangue real’ Dragons?
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