It was a day of any other days that strew the billows of storms high towards the sun.
And glare it glazed upon the flourish of white, the glowed a purity above the haze.
This was like that hellish summer past, this and other days.
I came walk on languid streets, and all the people stared upwith,
The bustle stopped, we had no whence to go, nor money with to go there.
The craning necks in wonder at this natural cometh showed faces to the sun,
the faces too they glowed with ghastly light, the kingdom for to come.
And in this heavy silence we looked, and saw in distant flashes one,
the lightning scribbled by the finger of some very God of faerie gods.
The stories they are true.
It hung about us, one and all, this pall of moving not whit,
as we waited for a histroy to come, a history yet unwrit.
The wheezing out of an age was on us, these streets of dark and dirty mien,
would never be quite different, yet never be the same.
It is the dying of another time, I will not miss it.
I returned to the dark lit desk, as thunder flashed from out of doors,
and layered 40 stories high, and placed elegant twisted floors.
I cast aside the clothes that false modest protect, the antiquated mores,
and left behind that body born to short, that other life I quit.
It is here and here and here that we can make
without the limits of a thirst that deserts slake.
It is here that we truly own the sky,
and do not need to ask permit for what or why.
The lights that flash here are our own,
the time we have is not on loan.
That dark and dishonest decade we live behind,
replaced in truth by the purest realm of mind.
[I must also confess that Yedo Sakai is ready to rent. 7250L/week, or 30K per month. No other fees. If you have to pull out a spreadsheet to figure out the rent, it is almost certainly not a good deal.]