All along the muttered lines
Rose-dipped hues
That fell out heavy,
From the lips of subtle Lies

Caught between the soft facade
Were simple truths
That never steady’d,
Tremble on your slender jaw

O’ let me run along your Eastern Shores,
O’er the breeze of your Southern Moors;
Slight the brightening tail of lies
That abandons the quest you so adore

A thoughtless waivering in your keep,
Sets burning flames to all Night’s sleep;
Carried aloft by injurious cry’s
Only heard where the Woodbines creep

All along my waking days
Such heaving chests
That sigh despair’d,
Blowing Truth ever far away

From the scent of Honesty’s hair
I received the guests
Who brought repair,
Reforming the lines muttered there

O’ let me run along your Eastern Shores,
O’er the wind of your Southern Moors;
Lift the silken veil of lies
To reveal the treasures you implore

A dreaming Angel stays within your keep,
Allowing the yoke of Night to quietly sleep;
While the songs of Truth arise
In the dawn above the ocean’s morning speech

© 2011 J.Lax