When contrary winds blow across the sands. Their murmurs can be easily swayed. But when storms quicken one cannot placate. The howling of their murderous rages.
I'm chaos international. The writing on the wall. A Lazarus in parable. . A dark and sullen lullaby. Whispered softly as you die. Promising torments are nigh.
As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho. Or the moon without the comfort of the stars. I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul. Is nothing but a spilled canopic jar.