November 5, 2014

e x h a l e e l a h x e

Eyes tired and weary with a film of porcelain veil,
breaths - slow, deep, lone, and fading

The only sigh that kept her high -
thoughts of a growth: wood root - would wind

Eyes deep and darkened by agonizing ties
kept only by the grave demise

Someone withered and blown
with hair perfect just for a throne

Sincerity, truth, and sanity the same
endured through the blackest of black domains

Never to look and never to reign
lifted only for once for leaven so plain

Lift me up, oh Son of God.
Bear this pain I've known for love.

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