The Muse: Poetry and Art of the Gods

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Fire twice burnt,
Two pyres light my singing as upwards they reach.
Oh that the land be scorched with the sweetness of my spirit,
and bring forth this childe.
The lament of death, dying once more.
They that hide in the wind,
Who know all lessons of past abuses,
Who stood in groves not touched by naught but the Bard’s song,
Who watched as fresh crimson prophecy fouled the brazen bowl.
They speak now on this purifying night.
” Watch the Earth howl in mourning ”
“Listen to the desperate cries of my children pining for days without fear.”
” Whiteness my love, for the dance of stars which opens the mouth of Kings and Queens.”
“Light thy new fire by the burning of this pure and Holy plight.”

Who has tasted that Grall?
Sung, the as the night, whispers all things?
Look my fair seeker,
Listen to thy hidden voice,
Release all that has moored the in this now dying land,
I am that voice you seek, wailing in the mirror as none have seen.
I am here, I am ever with the.
I am your best self, and want to come home.

 

 

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