Mystic skys swirling overhead.
Weaved with the strain of duty.
She beckons with her head.
I collapse to her raw beauty.
She lifts me from the material dead.
I awaken gradually.
No longer bound to the dread.
Fulfilled now with the desire for purity.
- Comment
- Reblog
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Slug Words 
I love this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. Glad you like!
LikeLike
Love this! I think it might be my favorite. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person