The Maturing Darkness

Hate is inexorable; once it consumes you, it becomes you.
There, deep within the reignless night, I seek solace, and solution, to this barren fright.
Here, felling deeper, the delving deeply, creepily crawling, honed to awing testament, where the cries are forever lit – aflame, lamenting, wallowing and crying…for remand, for salvation, for but soughten freedom from saddened reprobation, and redemption from the seditions so iniquitous…, whereto the sorrow is harrower, and the morrow forevermore ghastly, to the ever-hallowed tomorrows, how harmonic… 

Where, sovereignless, the quintessence of the serpent’s embrace, crowned, affront the frowned countenance, where contemplating the futile pursuit, there ventured, upon the precipice of deadening minds, deafening ears, and blinded eyes…, formless, these shadows, nearer to the antiquating reality of wept meadows, filled with berated sorrows, inexorable, insatiable, the blooming blight, of vastness and tarred remembrance, inadequately–depthless, measureless and weightless…to this, the aboriginal antiquation, distraught and dismayed — to the surreal glimpse of the wistful existence…of tomorrow and eternity more…, amongst and upon’st the greater of us…the meeker, the broker, the haplessly desolated, in spirit, fleshless, and orated, to’ist the paining ordained.

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