Dynasty & Strife

We’re Holy ghosts; and light flickers; and time is but a myth.
I reckon it’s both heavy and soft: a tier of gods and goddesses;
And neither parts; and neither breathes; and first to die: a cell
Of thoughts. My future adversary: the world is but dreams; and

We war an empty pond. Alight the wave; and shift an urge;
And watch the light—flicker gold; else the hurt, a private sin:
The strangest land: a feeling, void. Cast a spell, and feel the
Wrath: a must return: a failed attempt; and wonder grey—a

Cloud of ghosts: a hosts of imps—the plead of pain. I must
Evoke—a thought to judge: a raft of stars—an ancient drug;
And what to burn—a mind aflame: a box of death: a mortal
Frame. We picture voice—an inner charm; and yet and still—a
Social harm; but fair the thought—a just report: despite the pain—
A bleeding fork.