surely there are no angels
no arrows, slings
waiting on the cold footsteps
for the grey stones
simply assert a passive sentiment
like unguarded wounds
resisting ancient feet
for thought
from unlikely towers
stands upright
defending this fragile realm
with a phantasy
an emblem's symbolic wing
the wavering of sign over saint
i look above these to the end
to a metaphysical dénouement
to honest beginning
where child and underling
await a simple unveiling
a godly wind
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