Until it is the last time. in The eye of every storm

  • June 17, 2015, 3:13 a.m.
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  • Public

He sees not his shadow, who faces the sun
For his eyes burn and melt as wax
The price paid for living in light
Is that of gold in the crucible

Ever melting, straining, striving, to be made pure
Purity escapes me, remembrance breaks me down

Though my knees become weak, I will cause my foot another step to carry the task
Bleed my hands but, they are kept, remembrance breaks me down
But I will survive until it is the last time


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