Muddy Boots

The thought of resting, without your blessing,
Sent shivers up my spine.
The kiss on my brow, as it’s all quiet now,
Left a request in my eyes.
Though, what is a request, without a strong grip,
But a prayer for more time?
No, it is but with capture, and villainous rapture,
That you shall be mine.
Roll over tombstones, and howl to the moon’s home,
That dusky, darkened night.
Pick the star for your quiver, the spirits for your liver,
Pluck your eyes from my sight.
For with each reflection, a flash of detection,
Behind firelight,
If my teeth would glow, the more you could know,
The speed of my flight.
Shake the birds from their roosts, as ever more proof,
To the depth of my sin.
Catch each fleeing feather, as my promise to never,
Stray from this bend.
Chase the flow of the river, fill the bowl of the beggar,
As much greater men,
Have fallen far from confession, led yet to reflection,
Of their untimely end.
The clock is ticking, the well bucket dripping,
Fly far from these lands.
Send prayers to your light, for by the break of the night,
You shall be, in the heat, of my hands.

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