The eucalyptus is the enfranchisement of the drowning myrrh

That healed me by the faith that guided me as a whole

Throughout my elongated ravine that blistered my feet,

And raided Parisian soldiers who dined with the Divine

In the derailed kingdom of the masses whose bodies

Lay beneath the cinder cast in ruins of the ancient land.

Damascus ruled with the fists of steel to entrance the famished,

And yield no forgotten rule that franchised the many who marched

Through the begotten gates of hell.

Fires burn and rise in the cinder where no ashes shall be calmed

With regret and remorseful pleas to the forgotten lands channeled

In the wretchedness of the sea that forever bangs on cradled limbs fore longed

By the devilish plights of Poseidon’s vast fleets that rise to the occasion

Of their master’s whip and bleed their bodies into the aftermath of the sun’s rays

Of foul delusion overcome with sorrowful game and plight.

This dance is festered by the promise of a golden tree to make due

With what light Creation has, and never let the flame go out.