Beauty was not truth

The day’s eye-red was but a phase, having lost the moonlight all the way behind large doors and khaki authority. When we go to pray in marble mosques we tend to get killed on Fridays because beauty does not really matter but only a  blood-red heaven’s call.

In the end we see where the king went In the cold cellar, past earthly beauty .A priest’s God-call pierced the vault as beauty was not truth, only coldness.

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