Less It Be Of Thy Lord

Sweet scent of misty rain
Silhouette a faded grain
Sweep thy covers from thy face
To cast a shadow upon this place
Less it say to me, and then say I
Then to wit, and forthwith

Less it be of thy lord of this land
Then be purged from thy fist of thine hand
Hardly, hallowed hooves of echoed thunder
Purged thy soul my lord! as the heavens fall and ponder

And gentle, as the sapling sleeps, not peat beneath thine feet
Hallowed how the breath departs, and like the wind
Is seldom seen, before it leaps beyond the sky in hue
Bask beneath and beyond, my breath upon your release
And so it ceases and so is gone

My heart, thou art wise within
Knowing that upon which I feel my kindred soul
Whispered murmurs as daylight begins
And burdens are my sins and sown in tread
Eerie as I sleep, my soul’s released and before my keep
Shone and I shall be gone, with wings of gold and crimson hue

Less I have, and thou have found where solace leads
To clip our coven, and bind thy seeds
Unto to thee o lord! thine heart
Upon our own lease, thou art!

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| Poetry 5 | Poetry 6 | Poetry 7 | Poetry 8 |

| Poetry 9 | Poetry 10 | Poetry 11 | Poetry 12 |

| Poetry 13 | Poetry 14 | Poetry 15 | Poetry 16 |

| Poetry 17 |

Copyright © Darryn John Murphy