A story itself cannot show all this-
A mortal shell so fragile against the void
touched but for a moment,
and all the angels speak-
not the fables or lore of deeds,
or the coming of what shall be-
yet the space itself:
resting only in the heart of our soul, untouched-
waiting; awaits to be called-
to that very purpose beyond this world
weaved into us before our creation...
a seed of dreams seen only in the eye of the creator...
A fallen form redeemed not in works or claims
but in faith... without need.
Avid men and timid men.
ReplyDeleteNay?
Like rabbits, swine'n hen?
For not that we lost our grievances,
but we shown our allegiance.
A ruffled feather of hen just might entice a kicking...
Richard the Just led men oh so bravely,
lords and lads lay lost least living was Richard..
Wielding his self, sword slicing soldier's sides and eyes,
he brought a foot to where none hid.
All there, they find next to be discovered
by the bold, bold, bold
article of saint Richard.