The Fallen



1. Sonnet, no meter

   Once all is dark our dreams will rise;

     Our hopes breath life into ashen air,

     And we will soar unto blackened skies-

     Transcend time, life and a land that be bare,

     By flesh and by bone break amongst the waves,

     The promise etched still in blackened eternal ink

     Drawn across golden pages- we are the knaves,

     Beggars and ghosts- born to a forest in which we sink

     eternally in matter, until we become less;

     And hold in account fire and rock,

     Paradisiacal bow for our tree's stress;

     Though unlike kings we shall not flock

To neither gold nor diamond, nor tears nor blood river;

And below our tips no man shall neither cry nor quiver.

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