Poetry: Never

there was a thought that slipped my mind like highest tidings lost in time
and in the sorrow of the dawn I found it buried, burned, and wan
blackened to the ash of mornings, wet with dew and set with warnings
never to forget that given gifts are tricks from gods gone warring

there was a hope that left my heart like jumpers leaping from the start
of peaks so high they scrape the sky and pierce the lords of flight to die
in agony of what was lost when panicked feet left fields of frost
never to return to duties shouldered at the greatest costs

there was a word that whistled through my lips like God’s unspoken rights
and struck the souls of those who dared to cast salvation off, the scared
who shuddered at the heavy weights, dressed in gilded gold and plates
never to accept the blessings worthless thought at highest rates

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