And With Him Would Breathe Your Dead Soul.
For the pride which they heart is the
pride of a toothless lion; the
soul who hails good the bad evil
whose weird mild heart is an eased devil.
As thine soul doth cleave a wild wind-
is a cold war whose rumbling wind
hath thou heart with a peaceful peace,
But what pride hath thy faceless peace?
Thou whose sword birth a humble death
as thine wicked heart split a breath;
A broken mirror doth see sights-
So shalt thy lame soul weep thy plights.
For the pride is death's whom by him
authors life beneath six depth, him
hast thy soul owe a pride- thy soul-
and with him would breathe thy dead soul.
"words from the innocent mind"