Sweet Brevity.

The shattered pieces of what remain contain the rage and bile avarice and vice that twice taken to heaven have left us Earthbound and fettered. These fragments of tragedy coalesce and manifest in delusions and illusions of enemies born from air and mountains called forth from tombs we disturb with feet of ignorance and shame. We are left alone to wander the waste with little to taste but dirt of a different flavor. Uncontained our remains blow from urns in little gusts as trusts and loves trail into nothing on breezes cruel.

We are all of us cremated prematurely and quite demurely by those who would see us the drones to their hive. Combs of pulp and spit we remit to the unseen queen even as we loath her. The hood is for hangmen and falcons alike and when it crests it rests us and quiets the seething rebellion of horizons too far and lives too long. We hear the moans of the drones all busy and we are all a little madder for the hearing.

The hood torn asunder we are left to wonder if the fall will seem shorter with the horizons absolute the acute severance of life from limb and world from self. Our sins are stolen and petty the sensations heady but briefly before the piper demands his fare.

We shall all die by and by. Fall to the gravity that maintains brevity. What defends against the horror for we paupers and kings?