“May they be scalded at the post,
Drape from the limbs upon our pine,
Inscribe into their stripped bare skin
They are the weak, the faulty, of sin."
I could compose a ballad of time,
Profound, compelling reason and rhyme,
Impeccable stanzas,
Phrasing flowing as a river—
As could all of us,
But what impact would succeed?
To pirouette in the aching of others,
Leer in their ****** their night
**I’m a dashing *******
Bound from birth to do nothing but receive
While others around me
Shall pale, wither, die
Never for any other
Have I so much as cried...
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
“May they be scalded at the post,
Drape from the limbs upon our pine,
Inscribe into their stripped bare skin
They are the weak, the faulty, of sin."
I could compose a ballad of time,
Profound, compelling reason and rhyme,
Impeccable stanzas,
Phrasing flowing as a river—
As could all of us,
But what impact would succeed?
To pirouette in the aching of others,
Leer in their ****** their night
**I’m a dashing *******
Bound from birth to do nothing but receive
While others around me
Shall pale, wither, die
Never for any other
Have I so much as cried...
