Poetry died
And 'tis I
who have laid it to rest
every time
when I post my obnoxious verse
angels cri
runic tears from the eyes disperse

angels cri
their regenerate tears
flood the world
now it's all so clear
at the store
by the antlered deer
where gestates
the centauric seed

fed by tears
it shall grow indeed
angel's egg
shall approach thine ear
whisp'ring 'thee
shall abandon fear'

love to post
what has cracked the egg
for the ghosts
who have left this earth
th' other coast
always meant – rebirth
for it 'goes'
to ascend the north

to return again
biting tail it's own
not the mortal fame
but to serve the throne

frozen throne it is
like the warcraft 3
rustling through the leaves:
'life is a but a dream.'