Luyện nghe bài hát Crowquill

Nothing's so lucid as the promise of dreams, but these pills we found just me sleep.
There's nothing quite so pure as the word my dear, so lets have ourselves a little poem.
the will to speak loses urgency.
Our indecency in print is so blase.
Its about the bell tower, at the hour.
Angel of the spires climbs here steel cage spine, angle of desire.
the wrought iron, one by one, wrung by wrung.
Is it the rising roof line that makes me so swallowed whole,
or the way my barely pricks the sky,
the same as a century's worth of virgin's blood passed through my longing veins,
to convince my aching mind that pleasure's got nothing on the miracle of need.
Nothing's so purile as meter and rhyme when you can't see the ground from that and this perch is so far, far from the nest.
Gravity grant me the privilege of failure my bough never breaks
I don't stumble into
so I climb and I carve my initials in the bark with that feather I but its all so contrived.
My genes didn't me with the foresight of a sage but I know how this will end, in apologies and ink on the page.
A constructed crow quilled confession of my spirit to all of you,
waterproof ink scars the board, so hot-pressed, pristine and pure.
A slowly manifestation of "to tremble",
as base as a bridge in a song and less like the poem that I you.
Nothing's so lurid as haiku-detat on in white outlined chalk,
all I've got is ink smeared lines.
With our in harmony, the offering, of a crow quilled threnody.