Though

I dip

my pen

in blackest night

as ink blots

my marred gins clear

Tis but the one

That hears

To see

And apprehend sins sear

 

Sure

Bright swords

Of light

Transform

Yet true masters

Do not ascend

Ere he throws

Aside his earthy wraps

For his Beloved One

Will bend

 

Strong

Burning reed

Lined sheets

Of white

Marked by red

Stained wounds

Just portraits of

His Story

Upon a Soul

Attuned

 

 

D.S. Lear

Advertisements