Sins of mortality


Angel of Death
Burn heavily into the night
sweet child and do not falter upon imperfection.
For even the words of those so perfect
are tainted under misinterpretation.
Halt! What words do I speak?
But those that are forbidden
to echo with in the realms of anyone ear
Who am I to question?
To allow such thoughts
the privilege to fester upon my lips
and toil with the vile evilness of a damned tongue.
OH! Sweet Child of Clarity,
who is there to answers these foul questions?
But the ironic voice of a dead man,
who has no breath to speak.
So burn sweet child!
Fester within the fire of your soul,
struggle with the sins of your mortality,
and await the day of sweet wind
to whispers upon the candle of life,
beckoning the shadows of night
and bring the answers you shall never speak
from six feet below the earth.

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