Monday, April 2, 2012

Thundering Myth

9) Now so charged by a voice like deep thunder!
How much larger is his presence to me
Than all of the pressure in that deep sea
Of death. Walls tonsured by light surround him,
Woe weds the call, assured by brightest whims
That it may be turned asunder from it's pain;
I sit, pay homage as I hear refrains
Course through; pages do hang upon swords
Belonging to their knights as I do his
Most calming, fair gaze. Yet all at once is
This solemn stare razed, bent  by this great wizard
Of light; for bare was my head, but weighty;
With eyes still muzzled by treads of hates fee.
Myths distilled by dusty eyes, now set free. 

                                                                            Thundering Myth, (C) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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