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Cantor's DustThis tale like all must have its start To passage bid, from none to some All truth accepts all that becomes does fall apart. As idle thought does weave and split Or, this dying sun disdains release NOTHING saw fit to take its leave, And so it did. Hence, table’s set, the candles lit So matter waits for time to feast Woe, man was carved to red their teethCantor's Dust
And vicious lips. Here do men twist and pluck the fray Shadowed limbs and cries that rouse the tears Of the regretting crowds who wasted years In guilty play.
by ~reddoor
Yodaby ~theangryfish
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