Purple Friday Poem by Faeo de Lyre

In a dry feasting, not
In a fury or in the
Insatiable. Neither for
A victory, pyrrhic nor
But the fear to take up
The gauntlet of a sole
Propriety in apartment.

Not a proud reluctance
To shout triumphant or
But to gild in silence;
Yet, they show no sign of
A tally or a mark of an
Era else. Their colonial sway
Lack their mirth but stirs by
Their intending show as
Suppose a neglect that
May wont to stay back intil
The later, but contained their
Curve___their independence.

Intil the stunning, this show
Is in their countenance
Weeping like victors of
Lost warriors. Perhaps but
I come in at that this
Sorrow had kept from the
Banqueting. Perhaps, it
Is all imaging purple
That pictures the exercise,
But traced intil the rooting.

With a licence of speech,
Let me that they made more
From this triumph but most
Sought where their conqueror lost.
Methinks, they are wont to
Be free with their warrior
Than in the sacrifice; but
In the hands of this great
Enemy ___ human, though promised forth
Intil this shock. But who can
Hold on the shall? Had they
Intil the sinew to hold this
Nature, their charactery
Had rested in calm and
Have their pride and love, who
Shall sweep other but more paths
Theirs. But who the gods love,
Dies young. Who has his cake,
Eaten? Thus their faith lay not
But to find from a lost.

It is in their family
To have their promised child
Intil any ignorance of
Loss; but a tragic error
By a close brother braved. Aye!
Traded intil their folly, to
Wake up at a rubicon,
All intil their heaviest hearts.

But wherefore this laments
Hence their loss borne bonds away?
Perhaps intil theis science.

I dare not but intil their
Course, curse but the cause __ the
Means and quality in the
Measure; their flagging borne
Purple for they may next,
Rejoice. In a form they
Sacrifice. They stay but
Lain held, yet there is not
Stainful, their abstinence
In that their voice in any
Little, whole, upon the spell,
There is not their tongue stained.