Jul 2015
The quill welcomes,
His sorrowed soul
Upon weathered parchment,
His lost mind scrawls
The words are merely ink,
Yet scribed in blood
He asks her forgiveness,
But he asks too much
His sorrowed soul
Upon weathered parchment,
His lost mind scrawls
The words are merely ink,
Yet scribed in blood
He asks her forgiveness,
But he asks too much
Paenitentia must remember what he did.
