Beacon

Northern symmetry of promised tides

Can you hear the freckled moans? 

My bare south heeds no repercussions

I can see the anguished song

Promises from an eastern land

She tastes the trauma’s light

Following a western lantern

Can we smell the dew of cherub’s tears?

Winged arcs pass the rear view

I sip a brew of home

Waiting for a being to see my fractured essence

Stale and cold

Alone and scolding

Awake and wandering

Baron and pondering

Coy to the harps 

I have no tuneful praise

Harmonize her rapture

In the dancing lights of chaos

The open signs are front and center

I turn the other cheek anyway

No signal of significance

Is this thing even on? 

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