My song will be sung
when grace has won
and light fires bolts
where shades once roved.
Numb to dread I glide past doom
there is no sting or blood tipped fang
no dart to pierce my bliss and verve.
I fear not tongues that spit to rend
My torch is primed to bear much love.
In nooks divine I craft fond scenes
The muse enfolds my life of dreams
It is her words my quill inscribes.
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