Pennyworth

Written on 7/31/22

Walk.
Walk the plank.
Feel the air as you
Fly into water.

Sink.
Sink, don’t swim.
Sweeping seaweed will
wrap around your feet
and you’re free.

Feed.
Feed your soul.
Hide where ravens can reach you
and know, know once more, that
All is yours when
your hope is the Lord,
the Anchor secure.

Grow.
Grow up tall.
Grow your tree,
throw your seed,
and shelter here
with drawn sword.
Guard the doors,
round yon Warriors,
and yours.

Run.
Run, don’t wait,
and escape what the
Queen has in store.
Much more is yours.
Call the fire from heaven.
Tread serpents. Take hills.

Raise.
Raise your dead.
Raise their voices
as yours;
hear them cry.
Worthy words.
Formed in feeling.
Formed in sensing.
From from a love of
The Light.

“O child of man,
why muse you here alone
Upon the mountain,
on the dreams of old
which filled the earth
with passing loveliness?
…Thy sense is clogged
with dull mortality;
Open thine eyes and see.”

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