floraison sauvage

Crave

What one might know,
Of what I crave,
Know I nothing but,
That I shall walk away,
Might I break?
May I break,
I pray I break,
Standing in prayer,
For this while of wake,
Then I'll wake from this pain,
My hands meeting mine,
Me who waited for me,
Risen to reperfect the prime,
Me and I shall one will be,
A vow of power, a blissful crime.