January 1, 2018

PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY-PART 12

Is it in thy wraith that thou friskiest kindle enkindle, Like a St. Elmo's fire,kindled in a stormy seas, So shall the glorious herald and triumphant hills ' benign graces be, Of winces of golden heart wherein shadows at his feet flees,chant salaam to cheerful earth, This shear shorn,keeps fortune and gilden boon away, But to the nightwatchman,audacity did his frenzied temple condescend,That fastens that which keeps buoyed at length with midnight oil perspicacious burning in noctunal regalia,Within shoreline protuberances,sleeky shockwaves bonemarrow threatens,Mine eye awake,when automagnetic waves aplomb,my brassy mettle felt, To neuter my automagnetic thrust,though not been impuissant;for that which i am,i shall be, That that unbriddled nerves,that kismet canst not castrate,to garrisson that which i have,i shall be, Against that automagnetic nerves,that that which has been,shall be, Against my automagnetic trudge that which shall be,am i not bound to be?

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