East Of The Wall False Build
The wandering stranger assaults you with guilt, not with
guile.
The spoken word, spurious. It likely wouldn’t push one to
sway. With doubtful experience, it plotted us a path that
wound back again.
The halls are cavernous and twist the sound as bait.
Quickly drawn away, open jaw. Dig the hook inside while
we bray.
Now the horns’ blows have carried away and we’re
remorseful for the call. When the very life of you is
swept away and reverent then what worth have you? The air
we breathe is the air we’ll be bellowing. How loud claps
the storm? What fury will we swallow away?
