Featured art by Piotr Uzdowski. Click title image to visit his studio.
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Wishdokta “The Accused (Possessed By Devils Mix)”
Judge not, that ye be not judged in return,
For drudges of night lie begrudging to learn.
To their due concern, they are untrue to selves
Spreading distress then to lessen the wealth
For whom chime the knell;
Their entombed blight be felt.
To assume right expelled,
To their ruin be felled.
Bee stung lips swelled with the lies each reprisal entreats,
Kissing to tell of a good price on priceless antiques.
Steep are the taxes of plummeting axes—
Midst thrum of dum dums strumming klaxon;
Humdrum inaction of blundering faction,
No plunder exacted,
False thunder redacted.
The fact is pulp fiction—that of beggars, fools and thieves;
Words of weathered cruel deceit,
Bled from tether—Gorged in greed.
To suit whichsoever need denotes least celebrated feast.
Negating plain belief.
No pain relief for those with brazen teeth.
Digging the marrow of grounds that stand hallowed,
Through blackened eyes narrowed by vitriol shallow.
Thin veils whisper tales of uneven ships sailed
Through the seas of fierce gale,
To the wails of defeat.
Endless wilted seasons bleak.
To the ends of something groundless,
Retrogress of one thing boundless of mystique.
Relapse of a shattered steel;
Synapses firing blank gestures bereft of goodwill.
All to claim the all-important kill.
And all the while, the eyes of false fall still.
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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