The Scribe

Now we are no longer
trouble in the depth of night,

Howls fall flat on the breeze.
Shattered dreams touch the

solemn hands of peace, pilgrims
covered by a lone sheet

marked with the word of love.
A darkened scribe writes in

prayers, forgotten nothings
once whispered in your ears,

He reads out loud to the immense sky
that it might weep instead

For being without you.

the scribe

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