'til the Philosophy

For days we mount white stallion, going westward, far from the black stone path The beast pants, but carry on with fire in its eyes New shoots down-trodden in the channel I taste the straps on forerunners deep beyond their dermis, way pass the dark transgression we obtained, yet we hold this sin so dear; a real peril to the end I felt wind urging hoofs, and heard the soil of a mother calling from soles; support for imperials Mattocks pulled new soil to conceal the cries If philosophy changes, there’ll be songs I’ll never sing, but for now I’ll walk streets eastward, and survey scuffles while watching my reflections on dark footprints In hope the hoofs are hushed I’ll lay me down on fertile bed, whence I will seep along common path unto all taste buds The earth will carry me, as thick as blood