|
I opine They anoint their brows with your blood as a perfect chrism. On your body the beaten anvil Was hammered out That moon-like sword the ascendant dead unsheathe Against us; sword that no man will Put to rout; Sword that severs the question from us who breathe. Surely you've trodden straight To the very door. You have surely achieved your fate; And the perfect dead are elate To have won once ...
Tags:
thoughts

http://gavinzi3136.livejournal.com/10283.html
(Cached)
0 links
Published: 5 months ago (Wed, 22 Jul 2009 06:43:59 PDT); 10137 bytes
|