~ 1 ~

From the most fair in eternity see

The lineage which you have left behind.

In mind fruits fall ripe with your memory,

Yet all secular suffers, left to find

Redemption in new springs lost in seasons

Rooted in presence never returned.

Causing natural sacrilege void of reason

And perjuring sin with question’s still burn.

Now, you take hand in every seed that is sown

And serve as muse to mend lines both formed and torn

From my heart that bleeds ink onto this page one.

Hear more of this endless effort forlorn.

For your return is beseeched by humble craft

And rage acquiesced til my pen breathes last.


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