O Winged Thing

O plague, thee darkest hour
It comes upon you, you duck, you cower
Thy wings to spread the moonless night
Your shackles bind, and dig, sure, and tight
In the deepest chasm, you show your fangs
One's visions clear, thy bind, the same
Some two, some three, four and more
To see things pass, and come before
They bite, they sting, to show, to shame
You, the chosen, you, to blame
To run, to flee, no place to hide
You grip the ghosts, that do abide
The light you seek, you surely find
To slow the beast, a tortured mind
You seek the answer, to him above
It is a gift, was sent, of love
To ask the question, how can it be
His only answer, the love of thee

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