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The Son.
Away, painting of the sky and companion of the stars.
Drain the luster of the moon,
For I am born.
The Son of the Sun.
From the bed of flowers,
And the alters of bricks and fire,
I rise from the dust.
The Son of the Soil
Not by works nor words,
But the conception of thoughts,
The melodious and rhythmic nature.
The Son of the Song.
Oh fruit of mother nature,
Birthed to see more than leaves on trees and birds that sing.
With a clear vision and understanding as,
The Son of Sight
© immaculee-marie
Drain the luster of the moon,
For I am born.
The Son of the Sun.
From the bed of flowers,
And the alters of bricks and fire,
I rise from the dust.
The Son of the Soil
Not by works nor words,
But the conception of thoughts,
The melodious and rhythmic nature.
The Son of the Song.
Oh fruit of mother nature,
Birthed to see more than leaves on trees and birds that sing.
With a clear vision and understanding as,
The Son of Sight
© immaculee-marie
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