How idiosyncratic is the sun that peels away in early spring?

How ideological are the revolving spectra of reflections, rippling treason?

How theological is the scraping tide, tarnishing every pale shaving of life?

Time tallies and repents, dragging dead-weighted feet.

Fate: a clasp, a light tear…endangered by free blood sport.

How arduous is the dimming solar palette, upholding like a matchstick in the bleach-sheet blaze?

How meticulous are the ailments that traverse a population of the sullied and swollen?

How unscrupulous is the winding sea, mirroring out as a patron saint of ills and in-land larceny?

Time tallies and repents, dragging dead-weighted feet.

Fate: a wisp, a clean break…promoted by free blood sport.