Warriors of the Night Sky.

The sky conscripting feathers deep in the anatomy of flight,

under the surfaces of dictative annotation. 

Hybridity of normalcy,

a fleeting empire of the wind,

cemented deep in the ferment of eternity,

decoupage, reliancy on the thematic,

servile and distinctive,

he looks into her eyes,

filled with wings those compasses of the sky,

measuring the distillation of the sun,

feverishly revitalizing the starry night,

with its memory of the nocturnal semblances,

courtly following memory,

somewhere deeper still,

than the themocratic catatonia,

where aspersions cast deep in the stone's vein,

determine the chisel's first strike,

we are more than this,

we are more than monuments of the wing,

cast deep in the systematicity of time,

we are warriors of the commingling urge,

indeed,

we are warriors of the night sky.