Cry of the Immortal
The ashes of a memory
spark a flame of long lost dreams.
The essence of infinity
wrapped up in the echoed screams.
Though behind the tattered tapestry
lies the faith of things that could.
We still cling to true divinity
still found in one true good.
The raven’s cry runs through my veins
and though not everyone can know it.
My soul is complete only when it rains,
for rain is the blood of a poet.
My soul is from quite long ago,
my heart of ages passed.
And though I yearn and long to know,
these words will never last.
a poet without a soul
a lover without a heart
a warrior without a sword