The Ancient Oath
December 1st 2006 05:16
:
poetry
The Ancient Oath
Come his voice calls
he is not discourteous
you are troubled all the same
Come his voice calls again
it is airysolid
his hand holds the sun
to a permanent eclipse
There is no sun, only fire he whispers
the truth of his syllables
lick at his fingers
Come his voice calls
he is not discourteous
you are troubled all the same
Come his voice calls again
it is airysolid
his hand holds the sun
to a permanent eclipse
There is no sun, only fire he whispers
the truth of his syllables
lick at his fingers
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