Poems from mordredsrose
Glory of my paramour marks song upon the Moore
A dream forth did stem the Redeemer, and donned the heightened score
Of Angels, or Devils,...
Tis given that so we go about our lives
Flame-filled flesh foregoing the world,
Hidden and concealed, in the shadows of the mask,
Seeking...
Death is but a mask that only the living dare to don
To be danced within the light of day, and when the sun sets, forever gone
It speaks...