Nyx

In a temple at the hour, people chase sheep in the warm sunlight. A coin is placed for passage and choir, historic men with their exhausted hands; pubescents carry their heart in a bindle, gathering in delight. In the presence of God they all desire. God stepped on every theme, spelling solace to its inconsolable followers in the rays of moonlight. They swallowed the beauty, and their breath expired. Void was the color of the divinity— eyes of mirror, hair of lack of light. Prayer and devotion, the follower was in mire. Dawn breaks, and the hour of heaven ends in blight.