Sunday, February 4, 2018

Catching Grace

Of catching Grace
It is bestowed
Forgive the dark
Seeded. Tempered madness
From this root born
Of labour, sweat
We ply our trade
Hold out our hands
For want the fruits be paid
See not our sins
I will stumble
Thy crown tumbles
Tarnish its gold
Askew. It will balance
Still it is home
In night I see
What lays dormant
Savage this beast
Red my heart bleeds
Reign the soul that is free
Sleep my beauty

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