Sunday, 19 April 2015

Of What Wyrd May Hold For Threads ForeTold

A Cup Of Tea,
A Swirling Sea,
The Relics Of Disaster,
Gusts And Breeze,
They Cut And Seize
Not Leading To Their Master...
A Quest To Light,
The Rending Sight,
Where Faces Meet Their Hand,
At Tables Layed,
For Pieces Played
By Baubles Filled With Sand...
A Word For Such,
At Which To Much,
It Beats For All To Squeeze,
It Whets The Start,
To When The Heart
Minds For What It Frees.

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