Inside whichever hollow crevice, bare of fruit in pyrrhic strife -
Concluded to wither out, as if hastening on.
You must devour, encumbered by your masque.
Do not fret, our somber - dour; extemporary fledge -
The Urge shall arrive and after, pass.
Ichor, sodium, cinnabar paste atop an opulent display,
Feeding many of a kind in more ways than one.
That there is a mountain, simmering in bone,
Made out as: \"Tiny foretelling\", a harbinger of what\'s to come.
To \"Hope\" is a bitter concept, yet \"Hope\" is frailer still.
Naming home the place that your prior beliefs had forbade:
Relish in savory blubber - the urge;
In due course, will wane.