Septic Flesh

Behold that a path is created from these traces of ink
Letters join numbers
Sounds come forth manifesting the plasticity
This is the direct outcome of the continous war
The collision of the worlds of change and stability
One would sense the mind behind them
If only he could withdraw from the relentless
alterations of its forms
I have swum against rivers of fallacy
Chaotic symmetry
And have returned
From the point of weakness
To the root of triumph
Between the circular entrances of spinning dark suns
I travelled with the company of a triangle