You might think that every journey begins down a long road.
However, those thoughts are for naught.
Each being does not have to even move.
For the mists of travel swallow the perplexed.
Honesty lies and corsets the woman.
Keeping sweetness under the woven ties.
A sparkle of significance lights the eyes of demons.
Zipping mouths shut and clapping out dust,
Nine figures appear.
At the eleventh hour, when your thread is cut, an effigy burns, of nine tall figures.
On your journey you’re cloaked in black.
Avenging the life you thought you lived.