Beneath your lids the brown
walking earth waits to be displayed
the witchfire light it sheds and steals
blots out the darkness with a thicker shade
white, white hot shine the orbs within
like Armageddon’s heart of fire
where all things are to be consumed
why does this sight unroll me in accord
as the swelled seed unrolls her green sword?
A hectic weekend with no time to write, but an old journal scribble from a planet distant in space and time is offered up, for whatever it is, or isn't. The only revision done was to shorten the ending couplet by a few extraneous words.