Cradle our ruin carefully
On your path toward the dawn.
The ink of time and shadow
Can obscure where you've gone.
When wicked is your hunger,
Though each stone looks the same,
Whisper again the magic;
The lesson bought with pain.
Make of your lips an instrument.
Make of our curse a crown.
Find light without a filament,
And song without a sound.
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Comments1
'Though each stone looks the same,
Whisper again the magic;
The lesson bought with pain.
Make of your lips an instrument.
Make of our curse a crown.
Find light without a filament'..
distilled wisdom, served as a delectable poetic treat, a reading feast!
thank you! dear poet
(indeed, they be costly
those lessons, bought
by our survival of pain)
Thank you so much Mek : )
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