They light fantabulous these glorious aspiration hunters.
They light the stage and glow all paths.
A spotlight of future epitaphs.
They hone the night sky.
Bright light in a babys eyes.
They hold tight and record old lies.
Then clutch on like stalagmites.
Growing forth despite me, unwavering diligently.
Until a part of the soul, that’s frightening.
I light fantabulous then glorious apirations I hunt!
A secular front.
Also writing under “Cursed Rider” on