The Epic Rebirth
Fireflies beacons, nomad, I quest
Thrusting dagger deep into night
Afterglow, apparitions that fest
Dancing in the wake, and they fade away, when pulling out the knife
Forlorn my laden soul, it is a walking corpse
Stride I, battle broken and weary worn… betwixt these nether plains
My own body, the beggar of death, as I travel upon this barren orb?
To seek solace and purge myself of these arrows of pain
Cease! Ole burdens of the dragon’s fire or mares of knotting noose
Mercy, Lord, mercy! Extinguish its flame!
Relieve my hopes that dwell upon the hangman’s truce
One last breathe I beg, the next will break these chains
Am I not within thine favor but, I still the puppet that looms?
Sundials seem slower turn, balance of power within the hourglass sifts
Morns now within the past, blood red skies surround the birthing moons
Then earthly shadows realign, transfix to specters smile, grins the eclipse
Nigh tides of newer judgments will thou not find?
Seize I, Smith through your molten molds, can I not be recast?
To pure, liken the worn out golden coin?
Fiery furnace the hotter, all but ore be turned to ash
Forger, honing of His industrious craft
Reshapes the glowing mass
With hammer strikes anvil forms a newly awakened man
This time the heart of steel, that once was one of shattered glass
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2011
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