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Penned through a storm outside a window and a tempest from within |
Pride Like drift wood cast upon the land, unused, unfit for use We coalesce, misunderstand, a nature, cold... obtuse Fragile, flung upon the shores, washed up on the banks Drying, lighter than before, lost, tighter in our ranks Lost amidst a foreign realm, where butterflies hold court Moths so easily overwhelmed, when light is all they sought A star thought close, now out of reach ... a light to disregard Lattice wings ground on the beach, as storms, they pick up hard Winds thrash wild through the night, scattering the bones The runes we clutch with which we scry, dashed calcium on stones Bones that drift, they still reknit, as muscle, sinew heals Realms beyond our own remit, a substance nature steals A wholeness lost, discarded drawn, left scattered cross the land Barren, sun bleached, wind ripped, torn, reborn unto the sand Reshaped to fit a landscape stark, repurposed for the ride Storms run silent in the dark, she rages on outside Ciara rages though the black, trains of thought, off course Difficult to keep on track, pulled so far from our source Carriages gunned back and forth, driftwood pinned and railed Still eying stars up to the north ... stars we think we've failed Fallen in a final stand, scattered, lost and drained Repurposed for a different land, reshaped to take the strain Restructured for a unique cause, our driftwood will take shapes First we have to break... take pause, the barrels we must scrape Rock bottom is where driftwood's made, it's where it all resides It's where our souls are carved displayed, resculptured... shaped with pride Wear that shape for all it's worth, wear it as your own Roar, take back your birthright's earth, it's yours... and yours alone |