Time is of the essence
The firing squad with eyes darted
No floundering rather a secure testament
Of frivolities and truths.
Steadily traipsing across the bog of
Saturated soft green tomorrows.
A look of knowing, of familiarity
The pace quickens
The questions commence
To Be or not to Be...
That is the stance
When one is under fire
From the glimpses,
Steadiness shall remain.
Fortunes were told
All is at rest
Now leave it to the one who holds the Fortress Silver Master Lock
The grand wizardry of shadow and moss awaits...