Noun of Truth

Searching for the noun of truth,

with cracked lips in time,

I bleed out the blood of infinity.

I crawl along the ground,

of lesser sound,

which creaks along the way.

And in my search,

I hear the sound,

of scraping upon bone.

Placed on a perch,

high above the ground,

was forgiveness of my own.

And there beside an Argentium plate of armor sat,

a golden gilded, satin wood tray,

cupping the jewels of Lantis.

It sat unmoved, untouched,

and unseen by human eyes,

through the dust of time.

It sat quite still,

and guarded by,

knights on headless horses.

They had dipped their swords,

into the ink of time,

and now forever live.

They wait to write upon a cloud of pain,

their story in the sand of time,

a history of blood.

And whosoever claims these jewels,

and lives to lift their veil,

will hear the noun of truth.

And they will tell,

of time and space,

and of the place,

where hero's once did roam.

©Lee E. Shilo-All Rights Reserved-2011