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With Shards of Glass
French flower of the fleur-de-lis
Braids of sunlight
Impaled across
My bloodied, broken, battered feet
As those within
My Shattered Heart
No pain bringeth upon defeat.
With clothes atorn
I stride afleet,
Upon thy brow to adorn
My hope, my fear, my living soul.
As winds across
The sands of time
Thy hourglass doth sway,
For had Prince Paris
Of Homer`s rhyme
Beheld Queen Helen`s after thine,
There`d ne`er been a war with Greece,
The dunes of Troy
To sleep in Peace.
Thy visage cross
Crowned in Glory, thy Golden Fleece,
A step ahead on Darwin`s stair.
Upto this pinacle of desire
I would gladly crawl
Ten thousand miles and many more
With Shards of Glass
Impaled across
My bloodied, broken, battered feet.
By Robert L Thompsett