We Will Not See Them Rise

Over the river runs a hasty fright; All our worry what became, becomes. Instruments of time, un-tuning every night Brooding with precision to a memory that numbs. Golley-wogging on surfaces Of mirrored ponds. With an everlasting legacy, No magic in our wands. We do not have such words within As those that shall remove us. Ours bequeathed, by those No longer here. One voice shall rise above us all To be a hero by default. Each man is such when by himself; To clothe himself within his doubtless lie, Each time he tries to be more than he is. Dismissed by parables, Paroled by unknown mercies, We seek our self Inside the God of our perfection. We are not He. Were that we could move all words to be a shelter, Giving what we do not have to all our children. Intrepid creatures hollowing out the night. Carving a totem of words. Our falsehood of becoming laying flat; Stating that Our whisperings are vital. We drown all words In the air of our silence We will not see them rise Above the level of our sorrows.