Max Manley

The Sant Tumult Fractal of Regin Magick

A plant grew, a vine, up a tree most gnarly

It wrangled the trunk and grew tight, green veins 

The fractal binds dug deep, the new roots were reigns 

The tree buckled from the precise growth, dryly

 

The sky grew gray with worry, how grimly

As the strain summed up mighty fiends 

that sucked the nutrition, preventing the growth of fiends

The stalk now becoming e\'er like barley

 

a black void thunders evermore with lighting 

the image of sadness and dusk sparks freighting 

the ports now closed: time for the containers

 

The vapor smells of poignant ozone dring

the black ink of the empty sky\'s gring:

walking threw the cloud---they crawl out of creators