Grazing out above the pasture grounds
The High Might Sun beats down and the light of the scorned casts judgement upon each cell
A Head of the house has His mission to play out
One step, to the tip of the toes, the World presses down
With boots on tied tight
Earnest hands scuffed from reach worn, promised new horizons high
Yet the moon laughs come nightfall's time
With the Man's cherished seeds tucked away
Out of sight
To tie up lose ends...
A Pilgrim's grave washed white...
And his will to fight...
So the Circle Upon Nothing continues to turn
And not a change of fate
Chartered of the stars, crossed a Lover's plight
A Missionary Merc scarred 9mm tats down Blood and marrow deep
And the weight of it All bound by these suspenders
A Preist carries on
He has only His Maker left to meet
©palewriter
P