vīgintī   septem

"Poets do come here? How interesting that is. Tell me about them and where they always go to.

Tell me what they always did whenever they did come here. Tell me what they had done which probably I might be a part of.

Tell where they did have their lodges. Did they also have Nymphs they would go into. Did they also have their ways around the words like me?

Were they upfront or were cowers. How many of them had come and would come.

How do you even make up with the thought of bringing all of them here. You must be some hell of a clown surely."

He quit talking. He had no idea why. He just felt odd. He felt like his throat was done itching.

But he could still feel the itches somewhere else. He didn't know where precisely but he would still figure it out.

He didn't know which of the part of his body did want him to keep speaking. He knew that he would still have to feed it.

He wasn't sure how accurate he was or could be. He was merely sieving his stances. He was churching his chances. He didn't know what to do.

He didn't know what to feel anymore. Time would be eager anymore to serve to him on a platter what he was supposed to know.

He knew that quite well and could say that about tarred time.

He had learnt few things which he would never discard no matter what did fiddle with his instun. Time would be generous enough for him.

The monster should speak of course. He should had spoken. He had asked several questions.

He had no idea if his questions did have answers. He wasn't sure if the pain and rage would have the best of the whole thing.

He hoped that he wouldn't suckle under the rage of the moment. He didn't know what was keeping the monster back from speaking.

He had no idea what was making him linger in thoughts. He should figure out what that was exactly, but he did know that he wasn't so patient and wouldn't be.

He knew that he had always been restless and time was just being in a haste. He would then and of course teach the rage what to feel.

That was exactly what he would do. He wouldn't do more than that. Time would make the whole deal known and he would be there to give meaning to it.

He would be there to give life to it. He would be there to make it live. He didn't know how true he was being to himself.

He didn't know how loyal he was being to his instinct. It didn't really matter at that time. He needed some concrete to hold unto. That was all that did matter.

Immediately, the smoke cleared out and he couldn't believe his sight. He hadn't had the time to check around and figure out what was in the hall yet.

He didn't want to do that yet. There was something urgent which was yelling at him. He didn't know how to ignore it.

He knew that he could never ignore it. He could say that to himself over and over again. He knew what he wanted and why he did want it.

And all that he did want at moment was clarification. Why did want it? He didn't want to feel stupid about he whole thing of course.

He was just trying to make sense outta the whole mess of course. And of course he had been speaking to the monster for a while.

He was very sure about that. He knew what his instinct would lease at him. His instinct would never spit into the bowl of time for him to lick.

He knew that the monster had been present there. But at that moment? He was no longer there. He had no idea where the monster had gone to.

He knew that was in no way so going. Twas disappearing. He could repeat that.

Where did monster disappear to? He knew that he had him on the serpent some moments ago.

He knew that he had helped him know the feelings of the route he was plying. Then at once he didn't see him again.

Where in the hall was the monster. Before he would look around he wanted to be sure if he was really sane.

He didn't know why he would think so odd of himself. He probably could be held in illusion after the smokes.

That could be some second level or the side effect of having inhaling the smoke. He didn't know whether or not that was true.

He didn't even know what to believe anymore. He was trying to process it. He wasn't so sure if he had seen anymore disappear once.

The thought he had dumped some whiles ago leapt back on him. The thought had taken a new form. Twas draped in a felon attire called fear.

He was hoping that his recent feeling won't be true. He didn't know what would be true anymore. He didn't know what that was or what that would be.

He was trying to put with the odds. Had the monster left him there to be tried? He couldn't be sure. He didn't want to be sure. He didn't want to believe in it.

He did what was inevitable. He didn't want to do it in the first place. The serpent had stopped moving. Of course twould.

The owner was no longer on. Or was that the time Poseidon had told him in the first place? He didn't know what to believe.

He didn't know how to believe it. He didn't want to put up with it. But he did know that he wouldn't remain like that forever.

He knew that time would have its rage. He knew that new things would have their way. He tried surveying the hall with a sapid gaze.

Then he made a gaunt gaze. Then a gullible gaze. Then a grotesque gaze. Then a groovy one. He didnt take note of the things that were there.

He was only looking absentmindedly. He didn't want to complicate things. He wasn't interested in whatever was in the hall at that moment.

His look had been sharp and crisp in the first place. He hadn't thought of that. He hadn't felt that way ever before.

He was hoping that things would come through. He was really hoping.

But as much as he looked hastily across the hall, he couldn't see the monster. Poseidon was no where to be found.

He paused to think if he had truly angered the monster. He had no sane idea if he had truly enraged him.

He didn't know why he would think that way. At least, for that moment, that was the best way he could had thought.

That was the best path he could had channelled his thoughts. He couldn't had done better than that. He was hoping that he would be able to steer clear of the odds.

He didn't know how possible that was. It did seemed to him that all he had said to the monster had made him leave him on the spot.

But why would the monster be thus? He couldn't really be sure if his feeling was right but at that point he was entitled to nurse any thought that flickered its ray across the boulevard of his consciousness.

And he was doing just that. He was doing just perfectly. He knew that nobody would had done it better than what he was doing.

But he wished that the monster would be back. He didn't know what he would do in the hall without some rules to mimick or something close to that.

Then the voice of Poseidon bothered the peace of the hall:

"Welcome to the hall of poetry and tower of literature, stupid."

He was more than sure that the voice did fight its way free from the cold walls braced with Jasper and diamond.

He has been trying as much as possible to ignore the quality of the hall and what it did look like. But as it did seem at the moment, there was nothing he could do anymore.

There was nothing he could put up with. He was left with his instinct. He was left to face the odds all by himself. He looked again at the hall.

What the monster did say at that time gave nothing but the hunger to figure out what was in the hall. What did he call the shit again?

The hall of poetry and tower of literature?

How in the wide world was that even possible. He didn't want to believe it.

He had felt that poetry was an illusion and it did live in the air. That was all that he had made himself to believe.

But happened at that moment that poetry was actually a hall in the world of fantasy and literature, a tower. How interesting that was. Super interesting.

He looked across the room to figure out if that was right.

Hell there was nothing else he wouldn't believe in the world of fantasy.

Hell shitty twas in there. Not in structure but in hideous facts. There were several doors there.