I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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A Ruin Of Voices


Where are they now, those gods whose quick caprice

Caused mortal hand to turn its craft to death;

To summon first the legends and their falls,

Then fall themselves to fuel theirs masters’ awe?

Their sainted nation’s faithful poised to burn,

The vacuum of their grace won’t douse the flame.

And though they speak, that wight as we may hear,

Their reason finds no anchor in our hearts,

We neither comprehend nor grasp the thrust;

Such voices rise then disappear to smoke.

Denied their hymn to save our soul, we fight

As heroes, less the ornamented grave.




My titan wears a turncoat; on its sleeve

A faded badge of duty omens ill.

A horde of willing martyrs, stayed by grief,

Await the last instruction of their fate.

The turbulence that brought them to their goal

Has drawn me to this point where life collides

With death; where from the final breath of time

Are spoke the words to sanctify our sins.

The shapeless sounds that form upon my tongue

Can neither hold nor drive them to this doom.

Their thew-aimed swords of war positioned so,

They run till they reach the fall of their prayer.