if we were to dangle loosley
our legs just ore the lip of time
would the toll be taken far to costly
for a taste of fires so sublime
if we were to edge these rusting crates
ever closer to that rail
push them out to God's own sea
across his waters sail
would the price to pay for insolence
exceed these forms corporeal
would there flesh be needs to recompense
if for a taste that we might steal
perhaps when all our eyes grow dim
a serpents clouded white
perhaps when we might then shed this skin
cast off this shroud of night
then perhaps with orbs of blue
as green as summer leaves
we might navigate these waters true
not bumbling blinded thieves
to distant shores of bleached white sand
of ever open eyes
to meet and grasp my makers hand
to burn my cloak of lies
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