The touch of her scars, sends ripples down my spine…
The rebellious light repels the dim…
Shimmering in delight, the dimming of my plight…
In the realms of my past life – live graciously to overcome your present errs…
The mirror that lies, is the minor that nurtures the major errs, it is said…
A gleam in my blistering blight birthed by a touch…
Beaming my woes into awes…
With just a golden touch!
Aye!
Towards the void of
The hard light
And the wings of angels
Celebrating
I will crave
Like men of the caves
The midas touch
Yes
I would say
In golding torch
For what gain is it
A man lie in fires
Of the flies
When he is to sly
A short to make fly…
.