Has your heart tolled that priest, for his recognizable delusions of fractal malnutrition?
Yes, the pigmented edges glistened with ethanol.
What happened when he cradled his own sinking flask?
Well, the dusk set before him. Amber skies blinked shut their moonlit eyes.
Gowns of light, and cherries lying, did he look with his mind?
No, His cognitive being was distraught, and the feathers crimped his morning wings.
Trapped and keeled, the scale shows more then one thing he could have seen, should he have walked?
If he moved forward, the land itself would have synced. So He stopped his being. His own flask tilted the seas, so that the land would still be.