The dust of this age gathers atop our monument, as ancient as the sun would gage its aberrant symbol. She was wisdom once as lively swam the Mer. Against our shimmering ocean s cleft, a sorrowing voice whispered for her memory. The Mer glance her land rivaled in lore and memory. Illustrious boons martyred her cause and now signs her doom.
(A land gone to waste hence she brows, animate and weathered doth she hale.)
Feral the lands been and grievous cants she s drummed. Fidelity spires coercing Spring the year round. Which the patriarch concerns is she reborn, blended in the maidens spawn caressing sexual wiles. Rivals cheat and spread atop the masked, ne er the wiser whence they birth. The boom surmises of countrymen and women, forced the same as nature wields.
(So long the brevity measures, mastering a desperate undulation.)
In fertile eights the crying sings while marriage blames us hollow. The Goddess grants us ardor without virtue and thinks us blithe in our strength. How incomplete in our wager has our promise left us unfulfilled. Our faith has made us gypsies, as our young airs their sensuality unmolested; weaned off generations of liberal imitation.
(Until new brothers reigned and splurged their innovations.)
Centaurs were guarded and willed while moved within our harem. Mortal and Mystic were joined, dismissing appetency in the next dozen hybrids. Colts and humans matched; with tails and hooves complemented with a spry human spirit and mystic affinity.
(Until such a one was fair and full of promise, heightened by the form that nature s metamorphosis vested.)
(Besting legend for their perseverance, and locking anew their Goddess s rebirth.)
