The Fright of Angels

A tenderly sense sat down upon the crown
makes way in a crimson pyre
all risen on the rust of will
bold and bare oer the carcass of content

The lick of life's tongue cures its tickle
to the nape of soul plagued
to the flare on a comets tail
shot thru the veil of nights surrender
as some would have it in the pale star light
explored to the repertoire of truth

Taste mercifies the victory of stain
and teases itself to the cure of a mothers breast
sure and safely as the perils swine swap lots
for paupers prince and kings scavenging
on the onset of deed by deliverance
made sound on the fright of the angels wing

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