Durst I cleave a way, break with inherited trait
And manner of communication, go between unerringly straight
Leaving the philosopher’s knot knifed cleanly felt a betrayal of the spirit
In which it was tied, but the latecoming ship is time
And time is fire. Nothing bided, nothing left by, no one let by.
Woes the Dayful Ancient mines deeply to find for me
Scrapes and binds, unlikely strifes and trials, set to seed
My corked fury like some shook quencher of thirsts, I seethe in bursts
Upon my mealed trencher the mead-drenched
Wrenched wings of venture birds.
Alchemisland 
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