The Tattooed Men of Dawn

Only If I could embody the braveries of Dawn,
Where all is possible and all is seen
And all life is congressed by the fortune of thought.
But I grumble out of bed and arch in drowsiness
Putting socks, trousers and idleness all on my suit
Of awakening, not quite ever knowing what it means.
I have never dreamed,
Or awoke to a full day of light;
Ars totum requirit hominem
Cries the tattooed man riddled with sight;
And so marches the condemned geniuses
In lead cloths, circles and itching youth
Unto their failures, unto the fortunes of night
Where their war cries are perverted to a fight,
Unto their failures, unto the fortunes of night
Where their martyrs are screams and vagaries
Unto their failures, unto the fortunes of night
Where the blackness is split with a white breath
That carries the words;
Ars totum reuqirit hominem

My eyes expand and flood like a puddle,
Dew reflects, from the marbles of my sight,
A shimmering silver light, from a
A plated heart once red, a mother's touch.
Native rivers spur and gargle from the mouth,
The crows hum, devout oaks croak
And I awake to a river of darkness
Trickling from the bower of my lips;
I try to whisper, visions shake my shoulders
And my eyes shudder in delights of the dawn!
The crows sing, devout oaks bellow
And my hands stain the bedsheets with ink,
All is an approachment, I fade unto the light
Uttering the words;
Arstotumrequirithominem