WINE AND GATES
Sword Torn To Halt, Sword Turn Too Salt...
miasma
on the tongue
in many ways, the rain of days
would, if not willed to the dread among
the since, in our fathomed call
to lively songs and the aching toll of an iron bell
where have we kept ... the image of need for all
we see the loosed hair of complexity for a voice to well
sans the ignoble lips, of contagion
the watch of terror for a solemn knook and cranny
selection for introspection, the myth of intimation
of a sanity with the keep of politics, the any
shame is your eye, says the sky
weary of clever around, the mates of simplicity know a harbored gain
in the still of repentance, the more we save our minds
for the curse of languoring kind, the walls of a city have fallen in vain
salt?
in these hands is the muse of the future, roled with senses
to find the common show of seem, is this light a fear at fault?
took for silent hours, the sorrow of tenths of sins, via winds
many names with a chance of signatures of dependency...
tooth upon the rued who'th of sillier vestige, the bite of summation
is for those that know the climb of sincerity to the candor of liberty
where even the family of conscience shall see, the rage of intuition
salt
upon the secluded age nearer to think than us
move with our timid let, if not lot of souls that shall
the seasons of candor that begin with a being thus
on the tongue
in many ways, the rain of days
would, if not willed to the dread among
the since, in our fathomed call
to lively songs and the aching toll of an iron bell
where have we kept ... the image of need for all
we see the loosed hair of complexity for a voice to well
sans the ignoble lips, of contagion
the watch of terror for a solemn knook and cranny
selection for introspection, the myth of intimation
of a sanity with the keep of politics, the any
shame is your eye, says the sky
weary of clever around, the mates of simplicity know a harbored gain
in the still of repentance, the more we save our minds
for the curse of languoring kind, the walls of a city have fallen in vain
salt?
in these hands is the muse of the future, roled with senses
to find the common show of seem, is this light a fear at fault?
took for silent hours, the sorrow of tenths of sins, via winds
many names with a chance of signatures of dependency...
tooth upon the rued who'th of sillier vestige, the bite of summation
is for those that know the climb of sincerity to the candor of liberty
where even the family of conscience shall see, the rage of intuition
salt
upon the secluded age nearer to think than us
move with our timid let, if not lot of souls that shall
the seasons of candor that begin with a being thus
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Sword Torn To Halt, Sword Turn Too Salt...
Sword Torn To Halt, Sword Turn Too Salt...
