THEOM

In an awe,
Darkness laid down unto her,
and resurrected blossoms that came from Heirs.
Darkness,
of all kinds,
were rings of love from her loosened hearts,
Hearts of spirits in gay,
somersaulting from the pumping part of her back.
Hearts that were followed by each epistles of her progenitors,
and hearts built beneath huts.
She's decorated hearts,
that were acts of arts.
A healer,
and witch to brag of.
The running wings,
and whispers from faith,
carved before the creation story
quackling from land to land on the knees of every man
were the tears,
of the dreamer in words.

And in crux,
was thy maker,
thy master,
and thy pilot
waited in ambush for his creature.

Rumbling and beating from the melody from her hut,
is an ode to be told
and the folded tear of her dream,
was a smile toppled before her.

Beneath her Maker,
Is every breathe from her heart,
her Hopes takes.
Her quiverful,
and better half,
she'd sacrificed,
her smile of three breathes,
and a rod she always clenched on.

On her knees to the future,
and the cost of every roar from her pain,
in soaked chains,
and a wet room,
with closed arms of an erected thumb to all.

She's of fetched hopes,
and a cloth of tomorrow's wonder land
wrapped around her,
and in gaze and panting thirst,
and her ring sworn unto,
on the altar before men and the laws,
is a cross of persecution before her head
and a garment of cries to carry before the land and all.

She's of no helper,
but fate,
that thy pilot,
would land her cloth of breathe and rod on safe.