the wardens of souls all take the fines
the lion looks down on all he leads
a few missionaries stride the lands alone
finding supplies to push them along
some white feathers litter the land
scattered from quite a good hand
the lions underlings fly through the air
drinking elixirs of life with care
a few angels sit in a painting
with one just above never shaking
a few things stricken from existence
judgments are passed
starting small
than encompassing all
all of this fitting or so it would seem
in these plains of white sheen
No comments:
Post a Comment