Totem (Lm)
Lady,
Your empire is turning gray
The sun is about to set
Your children are falling away
Around us creep a new death
Of familiar beliefs, and truth
The worm suckles at your root
Lady,
Your dead branches waste the rain
Leaves fall like acid spindles
Nothing grows near you again
Your shade so slowly dwindles
I must join the birds in flight
Winter has the coldest night
Lady,
Who exalted you to keep
Records of ancestral mirth
And by our cradles feign sleep
Drunk with the blood of our birth
O tyrant in old sheep's dress
The milk's bitter in your breast
Lady,
Imagination alone
Pedestal you to your claim
Upon time's tradition throne
I can't concede you my name
While we in nothing agree
Love's the salt that keep the sea
Lady,
Nothing keeps you, nor do you
Anything keep, changing while
You dream for applause, and rue
The heart that dare trust your smile
Only for yourself pride heaps
Promises where no faith leaps
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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