In the ruins, let ghost rhetorically glide
and daub word warnings with child’s artistry,
vivid faces look back to present and guild
the thoughts, the feelings of their ancestry.
In the scent of the shadow of the south eastern wall,
Boy form traces tomorrows words that tyrants scream,
chuckling at the unifying sorrow of great meanings fall.
The death of arts dawn faces the silent unseen
as the suns sky crests the wave of the midnight stars,
the morning-tide tugs on the throws of the night.
Raping some meaning from the dead lips of babes.
Else who from the void of east’s shade, cry for sight?
Un-reckoned, un-heard, half remembered un-rest
the prince on hill at mornings wars contest.
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