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The Crescent, The Star and The Cross What covenant calls for a knife, fitted to a father's hand, to spill a son's most sacred life across the sandals and the sand? Where lies the weight of risen light, on crescents, stars or crosses? Which marks the time with mirth and might? Counts gains, dismisses losses? Without a thought, the seas do part. Without a word, the earth grows old. Without an eye there, is no art. Without a soul, no truth is told. In timeless rhythms of centuries past, spoken words, not meant to last, decried by bards though sung by hordes, left mindless minions subjects of the sword. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Claire H. Currier On Date: 2008-08-23 21:40:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Thank you for posting and being a part of the link. This is so very well written, presented, fills one thoughts and emotions to the limits. God Bless, Claire