Silver-swiftly she chases
Drunk shadows cast crimson.
Twilight topples blind-flung edge
But inveterate talons clutch nighttime yet.
Why do you flee, wind-mothered sage?
Abandon not your faithless followers,
Lest deathless they pass into memory’s mausoleum.
Too short have you known Desperation:
Within its constructions still writhe
Curves dormant, didactic.
Too short runs your profanation:
Prose painted with insufficient scarlet;
Can lips speak without colored intention?
Delve onwards if you must,
Mountained footsteps penstroked in laughter.
The answer remains thus:
Fate can only be