...
*"She is indeed the happiest Oracle of Leo the Lion,
born as his innocent prophet
of divine sunlight~
tumbling~
spilling;
"eternal flower."
:to recite the amber
prophecies with
the lions ~fire'tongue~
in showers of orange rain.
She was the king's candle;
a starlit lantern of medallion grace.
She wears a dress of violet promises and peace
that tickles the wind to knock on the sky.
Asking the nightfall of questions in sleeping stars~
"Why do I miss her?"
Her words were fused with kindness and marigolds;
to cleanse the darkest infections within
a lion's soul
and his injured pride.
You are so lonely, Leonie.
With your heart forgotten in the lions cave.
Loyalty is built on your visions and bones.
Yellow masks that paint the walls of your prison,
and it's a sadness that the king cannot mend.
So this isolation becomes the voice of reason.
and freedom is the voice of treason.
Deep within the lions den, the ceiling fell at 2 a.m,
twisting~
buckling;
demolishing,
:stones falling to their knees.
With hope and reckless saltwater dreams
she fled with ember feet to see
the moonlight showering in.
Notes of silver plucked the wind,
as ink and blue stirred the rubble
There stood a girl, on cracked stone table;
with a white rabbits' mask and metallic hair.
Willow vines weeping along her arms
dress as deep as crow feathers;
and the hush of a dragon's wing
swinging from her neck;
crystals throwing light in her wake.
"My prophecy said you would come."
futures that unravel at a white line in the dust;
And the darkness pulled on her robes of silk;
while she took off the mask
and blue eyes met golden windows
Descending to meet the oracle in wisdom;
a warning whispered to her
ties with solitude
The moon spoke with a thousand tongues that night;*
"You have to roar Leonie; So the heavens can hear you."
...
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
...
*"She is indeed the happiest Oracle of Leo the Lion,
born as his innocent prophet
of divine sunlight~
tumbling~
spilling;
"eternal flower."
:to recite the amber
prophecies with
the lions ~fire'tongue~
in showers of orange rain.
She was the king's candle;
a starlit lantern of medallion grace.
She wears a dress of violet promises and peace
that tickles the wind to knock on the sky.
Asking the nightfall of questions in sleeping stars~
"Why do I miss her?"
Her words were fused with kindness and marigolds;
to cleanse the darkest infections within
a lion's soul
and his injured pride.
You are so lonely, Leonie.
With your heart forgotten in the lions cave.
Loyalty is built on your visions and bones.
Yellow masks that paint the walls of your prison,
and it's a sadness that the king cannot mend.
So this isolation becomes the voice of reason.
and freedom is the voice of treason.
Deep within the lions den, the ceiling fell at 2 a.m,
twisting~
buckling;
demolishing,
:stones falling to their knees.
With hope and reckless saltwater dreams
she fled with ember feet to see
the moonlight showering in.
Notes of silver plucked the wind,
as ink and blue stirred the rubble
There stood a girl, on cracked stone table;
with a white rabbits' mask and metallic hair.
Willow vines weeping along her arms
dress as deep as crow feathers;
and the hush of a dragon's wing
swinging from her neck;
crystals throwing light in her wake.
"My prophecy said you would come."
futures that unravel at a white line in the dust;
And the darkness pulled on her robes of silk;
while she took off the mask
and blue eyes met golden windows
Descending to meet the oracle in wisdom;
a warning whispered to her
ties with solitude
The moon spoke with a thousand tongues that night;*
"You have to roar Leonie; So the heavens can hear you."
...
Are you brave enough to tell yourself
that you don't need tisha anymore my dear?
You've always been strong;
I believe in you.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
