Grace

See now, the robes one wears under weathered cloak…
Of what quality?
None but the gods can tell…

For the rain, it does weep and lament.
For the self, it does struggle and lay.
Through cowardice or valor, one exacts due pay.

Sky of cerulean, hiding behind dreary dream.
Face of misery, hiding behind weary mask.
Through desire or duty, one sets due task.

On and on, one spins their tale and weaves their thread…
To what end?
None but the gods can tell…

© Sayer Teller

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