the journey men assembled as those before a recitation of the rosary of the Virgin
as pious as the saints of the clergy or salty beach waves crashing like iceflows decay and make an uncanny cracking sound like a snap their days warming yet decayed in the parley of this world if not others
remotely scriven on the cortices of reasonable men who argue their cases in Courts of Justice.
Plaintiffs and those defendants seeking rescue from gaols of horror if they trip as may any man will make errors as if the future were cast in the stone of the past and trap all those attempting escape to a clearer future all the theads of any nation bound together under a tattered flag a symbol amid graveyards where winds of the older days embellish the tombs of the past their ways at loggerheads with future dawns of strange colours
foreign to the jouneymen as some script from the Dead Sea scrolled up in fragments of mysterious pieces as the burned Cathedral’s Rose Windows transepts and flying buttresses failed after ten centuries of worship or more and quiver before their trembling movements are stilled by the prayers of all the Saints intererred below since 1043 or earlier
where requiems were left unmarked as paupers graves are silent and unblessed …
Flynnpoetry 