Caricamento in corso...

The Blood of Old

She is,
My bread unbroken;
Left to mold.
An ever-thickening assault,
On this heart born free;
For The Blood of Old,
Is the blood that flows inside of me.
 
Stop!
Surrender?
No.
NEVER.
 
My Lot,
Cast and hurled;
Forever thrown.
In spirit worn grooves,
Beneath soul debris I found;
The means to Atone,
And from sin be unbound.
 
So under Blood of Old I held;
Those means until they drowned.

(2013)

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Altre opere di James Matthew Coleman...



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