If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the w
If in some smothering dreams you too could paceBehind the wagon that we flung him in,And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocend tongues,-My friend, you would not tell with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old Lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori.{ Wilfred Owen - Oct.1917- Mar.1918 }Did somebody ordered some angst? :DTill Queendom Come content, fast forward to allegedly the worst time ever to move for a job experience in France. Pose study, played with some acrylic, discovered that this paper really doesn’t get along with washi tape, shaded in digital. -- source link
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