I sing a song of light and grace that sounds
Unheard in aging space, echoing far
Like rippled waves that run from feet inbound
To save the way from prey that push grimoire.
My words are light but mean with mass that sticks
Around when reading past, unknown at first
The weight grows fast to teach and train the sick
Outcast in ways of old that cure the cursed.
We take the weight like telamon to hold
The roof from falling on our heads in sleep
In wait for dawn to warm the blue and fold
Chiffons of myth away into the deep.
All time was made to fight against to free
Ourselves and earn entry by high decree.
-MMF
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