Unknown
The echoes
of our remembrance seem so distant
as in a long forgotten dream
while the scars of deeper torment, linger
like ashes on the Soul.
Into the light we tarry
out of the light we unfold
in-between we recompense
painting shadows on the wall.
Fragrant virtue, like gossamer wings
paper-thin and fragile
alights upon the shoulder
angelic and imagined.
With nobility, we adulterate
in nakedness, we honour
how open our dishonesty
with whispers too frail to utter.
What remains be valiant moments
where memories fade like phantoms
and scars grow into scratch;
Truth stand exalted on a steed long dissuaded,
unconquered and unknown.
Unknown ©
