The wayward singer of old,
Carrying musings upon his breath.
Whispers of a dream yet untold,
A light advances, the bane of death.We burn to find our frivolous yields,
End-time wishes through where our pain lingers.
As crying bastions fill cornucopia fields,
Fire and water pull at these fingers.An earthen mistral, a hurricane upon strings,
Find the wind tunnels of my mind.
I kneel in mourning for unnoticed things,
These roots I see, deeply do they bind.© Sayer Teller
How many things are missed, at first blush, only to be regretted later.
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Truth turned away returns as harsh lessons.
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Oh my! Such a touching piece, deep beyond the roots.
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I’m incredibly flattered!
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Glad you are
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