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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1252260
A tale of the purifying.
Merry to the wives, the children and the saints
“Let Thy spirit be shed”
And vowed blood runs free
*
By Heavens, I was put in a sad place
The solidness of my face washes me in a child language
But neither the dream nor stars at night,
Would carry me home the way I was

But if our breaths may be lifted under the heavy Sun
And our forfeited eyes may pass the stories of our race
Of the stony mountains and the deepest rivers
And within the pureness of visits
That had brought us down to our knees
And drawn us to the thoughts of no sorrow
Early as we had become, was, by a crown of stale

I repel the soft hands of Easiness…
Cause Mine’s are not shattered and frail!
Temptation could not bound with me

Not only through words shall I faith mine be
But to be led once to darkness lair,
And returned twice in a brightest night,
And thrice will be a Birthseed, Anew

All sings to Heaven, my body shall weep!
All for the narrow and the smallest of minds
For the blind men, let I carry to them my scepter

For they shall brace the Lord's...! O’ Brace the Lord's own Grace!
For the sake of our Childhood's familiar embrace!

O' Lord of Heaven
*
You know I love Thee,
You know I love Thee,
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