Photo by Jacob Mejicanos on Unsplash
Without discrimination, taking young and old,
a patient shadow hiding, waiting-- "there."
Expectant raven, he who receives leaves of gold,
directing souls away from trite despair
to He who reigns above, almighty, fair, and just.
From realm to realm, our Guiding Renaissant;
like water turns to vapor, then to snowfell dust,
so too shall those who follow you across
remain themselves: of substance same, transformed anew
and not unlike themselves before their birth
without the worldly shame and heartbreak life accrues;
from whence we came we shall again return.
The room was quiet, yet she said the noise was loud;
around her bed, around her bed, he prowled.
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About the Creator
Sara Wynn
Poetry is my language, and Earth is my playground.
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