The Moor
DATE: Jun 10, 2011 PHOTOGRAPHER: Alissa
“The sigh of summer upon my return
Fifteen alike since I was here
Bathed in deep fog, blurring my trail
Snuffing the first morning rays
Weary from what might have been ages
Still calm with my mind at peace
Would I prosper or fall, drain the past
The lapse of the moment took it's turn
I was foul and tainted, devoid of faith
Wearing my death-mask at birth
The hands of God, decrepit and thin
Cold caress and then nothing
I was taken away from my plight
A treason bestowed to the crowd
Branded a jonah with fevered blood
Ungodly freak, defiler
She is waterdrops over the pyre
A thistle in my hands
Stained and torn, aged and brown
Virtous shell with kindred innocense”
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