Lashed to tree and star
A life lived between thieves
Stygian gate
Pupil of a dilated mind
Stay your hand
From that lie as Father's voice
Is not, and never was
In Circles of Ishkara
Only moon to bleed
Only sun
Not knives
Never knives
Never the young
Light in shape of flesh
Harm me, tear me
In their stead
If you must
But stay your hand
A thousands cuts
Each cut a kiss
Bleeding me darkly
Not one mark
Upon my children
Not one
No comments:
Post a Comment