#quintain

Tilting at the Quintain II

Flying over gracious forests were a pair of vultures hunting.

One had seen a rabbit. Bones were gnawed and flesh by then decaying.

By himself, the vulture dove upon the carcus. Eating

All alone. His friend had come and asked, "May I partake with you in festing?"

"No! Buzz off! It's mine!" The rudeful miser vulture said while shouting.

-

Hurt by this, the friend then flew away betrayed and hurt and starving.

Not too far away, a family of deer was softly breathing.

Breaths that mixed with putrid fumes of rotting flesh from creatures dying.

Diving down, he ate his share. But then the miser came while saying,

— petrichor 

Descent into infinity, awake and aslumber. Cycle that shan’t end, never cleft asunder. Truly, this is indeed, to behold, a wonder! Time repeats the actions of the thunder On a loop until Mankind is six feet under

The Quintain

Tournament of Champions

I resent to never know of somethings.

Ignorance is one that pulls my heartstrings.

Where we'd go if this day was our last seen:

Would my faith then answer me with white wings,