Some sounds,

Some sounds,
a chariots glace and iron tentacles.
ponder, in tranquil retreat, overtures measure out along the
unimaged garden, locked upon a path, steep incline, away from the courtyard, were no nobles are left, to
inspect, and realize, nor, is the steeple set to tune, the oases, with meta-astral cognition,

The emptied stream’s sediments, are no longer rambled about by contending flows,
Toiling, is left far away from, emancipation of achievements, layered out, by reaping idler hearts.

the wishes, no longer confess, inner pardons, and engagements with lost souls, carried off for
indeterminate departures, mixed, fevers, and aching hopes.