The blanched faces of the fire-trustees
As they tore the torpor away from chaos
Tipped into sad equinoxes of twisted rampage
As they realized the lunatic feud between man and his soul
Was over.
With the sullen nobility of an insurmountable tragedy,
They looked at one another with hemorrhaging eyes
And wept their tumult with tears of fire.
Their ageless expressions wriggled into massacre contortions
And their frozen teeth shattered in the stunned clamping of their jaws.
“Tutelage! Tutelage! That will be the reckoning!” the first one finally spoke.
“The ache of tomorrow compounds the ache of today.
Worry, worry, the night is gone and gold is gray.
We who seek lavender muses will shake beneath the protuberant moon
And dancing through the gilded passageway toward oblivion,
Our Mother Nature will swoon."
