The Classical Age

.

In a maze of twist and turn

Echo the cries of a beast;

Although a human heart beats,

In these dull, wicked eyes burn

.

The flames consuming its wings,

Blood thread trails limply behind

Swaying to the sirens’ songs,

Waiting on a virgin mind

.

To wish away all the wrongs,

But the labyrinth’s wall

Is strong and cold, dark and tall,

.

‘Tis made of a thousand strings

Played by the gods at a cost:

An eternal tempest-tossed.

.


Il y a d’une ode ici.

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