Inventing the Song

Neglected and tattered, his banner of love
Once shattered the death in dead men’s bones,
Then strutted the bone-dust with spirit-laced song–
Where has the wind it ran upon gone?

Trapped in the lungs of the timid renewed,
The violent gust is reduced to a hum.

But creatures must ever take note of the tune.

That lilting breeze holds a shattering hum
Reserved for when fire and prayers are renewed.

Then torchmen will speak till timidity’s gone
And turn to the standard, inventing the song:
The gust grows in shadows and blows through men’s bones
To mend what was tattered, his banner of love.


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