By veggiewolf
Half shroud hangs in place.
Fair by face but not by nature;
Slow steps quickening in pace
To test the snares of jubilation.
What pitfalls lie beneath the seams
Of arid land and steaming marsh,
And will I see them through the dreams
Of teeth and breath and need, all twisting?
When flirting with the small ones Green,
I do not trust the things I’ve seen.

When aching draws me closer still
To strands that weave across the Void,
Decisions made outside free will,
All fall away – Forgotten. Lost.
I will remember declarations
Made with an unfaltering voice.
I will plunge in without regret
To depths made open through my choice.
The Sow stands proud, face to the Sun,
And eats Her Children, One by One.

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Source: Fluid Morality