No More Seasons Shall Be Shed

Gradient of flint and stone
Where for art thou now my home
For in this land we walk alone
And I am not the one carved from stone

For no more seasons, shall be shed
Less I be, in death instead
For in the silence there are screams
And I am caught in endless dreams

Solemn be those written words
By passage made but seldom heard

Unless I come to tatter the preachers
For I have neither come to teach
Nor shall I ever long to preach

Mystic be the solemn words
By which the brethren's breath is cursed

Vested be the sword I've shown
For I am not the one carved from stone
Beseech of me, as I may seek you out
Gradient be the seed of doubt

| Poetry 1 | Poetry 2 | Poetry 3 | Poetry 4 |

| Poetry 5 | Poetry 6 | Poetry 7 | Poetry 8 |

| Poetry 9 | Poetry 10 | Poetry 11 | Poetry 12 |

| Poetry 13 |

Copyright © Darryn John Murphy