Six of Cups

six of cups

Descent of fools and kings,
broken in tender ways.
Arisen from gaunt consequence,
stolen by hawks aloft on bitter thermals.

Stay, Night,
for the day’s tonic
holds little Truth.

Vapid cascade,
a cup folded by the weight of raspy lust.
Dream early. Dream often.
Whispers held tightly,
throats choked by the promise of a Golden Dawn.

Behold the Morning Star!
Her tender shimmer a faint pale of dawn’s crush,
lest Eos take her voice.