• fiftysevenhours 9w

    The Poets Dark Watch

    Amidst the darkest hours we muster
    And from the ramparts we call in song
    A herald to a new dawn
    Drawn upon a hide of flesh and bone
    An armour hung by words of lost tongues
    Engraved upon the glaze of night
    It is by no slight of hand that the sword does wield fresh blood upon a battlefield
    But a calling born to those in kind
    To stand and fight with thought
    Bare those scars however fraught
    Know that they are wrought from stars forged hot
    To blaze and ward your onward trail
    We but pray you find a truth of mind
    Amidst the darkest watch of all.