The sight of her brazen brow is finer in the light of tourch bearing slaves. For she is exalted in God's embrace. The powerful sound as his angels blow their monstrous horns.
Her voice is hope holding out its hand in the dark, and its sounds are of a calm-throated and dream filled prophet. Under her watch those with loud endeavoring tongues are sent noiselessly into the darkest nights.
With one coquettish smile she can command bronzed centurions with spurring heels to march forward to their doom. Yet with the same she turns dilapidated streets into pleasant turf filled paths crowded with sweeping sandals.
From such far-foamed sea shores, noble winged creatures flee from their god of torment to her slumberous solitude, and
adoring tears. She can turn those with fanatic obstinacy into country men in a comfortable misery. Content to remain brickmakers and unwilling to disturb her slumber.
-Johnny V.
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