"We are the forgotten poets
who make salvage endeavors
of the deplorable voyagers of
the derelict vehicle who went
astray.

Tragically, we are the one's in
the orbital decay, sitting forlorn
in the atrophying vessel preparing
to crash."

-

"We are the forgotten poets who indite a glimmering cosmos of music to which the mortal coils wearing venetian masquerade masks dance with their loving ones, depleting the miseries and distresses.
Unfortunately, we are the solitary's hitting the dance floor with broken masquerades and our forlorn perfections whilst slowly drowning in the abyss underlying the music."

-

"We are the fogotten poets
who discovered a power,
carved on to the limitlessness
and unbound by measurements.

However, we are the mystics
who failed to make a translation
of that power into lucid
articulation for spatiotemporal
space."

-

"We are the forgotten poets
whose distichs go about as
flares directing the lost spirits
to the twilight zone, the
habitable belt of subdued
rose-flushed light.

Tragically, to be a beacon,
we are the one's taking the
most gnarly excursion in
this tidally locked bifurcated
world, roasted on one side
whilst frozen on another."

-

"We are the forgotten poets
wandering the scenes of Nordic
wild - strumming on the cello,
the tunes of our shadows and
singing in proto-svenska the
tales of our forsakenness
- amongst it's monsters and
shuddering wailing winds
attempting to track down the
spiritualist pentagram which
will add colorants to our
achromatic poetry.

-

"We are the forgotten poets
who subsequent to placing
the horde's of anima's in
Noah's ark, stand in T-pose
watching our last nightfall
as an asteroid pierces the
exosphere - the penance
as a result of obliviousness
to the augury of our
vade mecum."

-

"We are the forgotten poets,
the hermits mistaken as
remnants of istrollets of ice
dunes - entombed alive into
sarcophagus and tossed into
the pit as a prey to the tenebrous.
The magma pool prepared to
feast on us.
But we are the ones, surviving
the pitfall, entering the nether
regions just to realize that we
have been salvaged by Cimmerians
and gifted by the tenebrous
with a lush green tropical zone,
the elysian fields of our own,
a universe of acknowledgement.

-

"We are the forgotten poets
who initiate into the ritual of
golden seed - integrating it
with topsoil, awaiting for it to
burgeon and psyched up to
be immersed in it's rose hued
light.
Unfortunately, we are the
guileless ones, being incognizant
of the emergence
of the imapling shadowy vines
that will immolate and
will bring about
our dissolution."

-

"We are the forgotten poets,
who dwell in the temple of mist
on the freezing peaks of the
fences-and-walls of horizon,
where we compose an
atmospheric and unpretentious
soundscape by trapping our
tsunami's into the strings of
our tagelharpe. Our tones
contain visuals and tears,
which in the end fade away
into wind and weather of
the mountain blue."

-

"We are the forgotten poets
whose ballads go about as
enchiridion so your faith
persists in the - Light of Sol
Invictus.
Sadly, we are the ones,
whose faith has reversed
it's course to virtual by
being exposed uniquely to
the dark of moon."

-