www.whyville.net Apr 24, 2007 Weekly Issue



Antier
Whyville Poet

My Salvation

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FRONT PAGE
CREATIVE WRITING
SCIENCE
HOT TOPICS
POLITICS
HEALTH
PANDEMIC
Time is old, the mountains weep
I rise untold, hung'ring to know
A murd'rous need, a desperate sleep
Peace cannot bleed, do hear my woe!

One of the world, great is thy grief
Thou dost ask alone, and thus boasts belief

Beyond reach, caverns of mind
My silent speech does quake the night:
Where lurks the great, the song refined?
What in all fate belongs to light?

Thou treadst a trail in perilous pride
But yearning to learn cannot be denied

Grant me then, the crime of peace
I must find when the righteous lead
Elysian reign shall me release
For what sustains is this I plead

Die to thy devil, and cut its control
And to prehend the pure, surrender thy soul.

 

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