Once,
stepping heavily, lame fate
Entered knocking not at the door,
And we live knowing not the times -
For a day and an instant, for an age and a hour.
But
quiet it is, the air's thin,
Thus it's the mean time of the End,
And memory, awaken, cries
And calls out forgotten names...
You
hadn't kneeled among the rest,
But in a plea that hadn't been heard
O, what a wounded name of yours
Remained... forever, that's, of yours!
Written
by Elefwin © 1999
All rights remain exclusively with the author.
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