In Mihiragula's Mana

Earth be still enough to hear thine heart
skip slick like a stone upon a spring.
Observe the frightful imbalance
of ones own personal fever.
In days of snowfall atop a high den,
one can not even hear its' cold flakes
knead into the ground- invisible yeast.
Take mercy from the constant buzz that holds
like a cloak calming the night, with velvet shoulders.
Until street lamps like halos ring...

Tis' a clarion bright and blown
revealing the secrets of Sages
sitting between the corridors.
What do they reveal through high minds?
Ave Maria!
Not of female form, but of a divine sphere
and the lamda of all that was,
and remains as is.
Moronic Madre,
Mary of Maroetic Lake, revive!
We will find time in your resurrection.
We've quenched our bones with blood yet
we are still going deaf, we are going blind.

There will soon come a time when
the mana of my verse
will derobe even the God Al mightiest
and trail like the ivory screams of elephants
entrancing the White Hun.