Woodland Cathedral |
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Here, beneath sheltering trees enough wine to dance and a star-painted corridor.
One sacred moment, when the stained-glass sky ribald, stored the fire-brim night and cloaked in autumn splendour gave way to a livery of horses.
The gallop of hooves, and shared enterprise, a gallant reprimand to duty: a passion, now unveiled beneath your stormy eyes.
The nation’s post: silenced and of conquest to an end, bright sanctity and blethering, ripened oil.
Emily Isaacson |
Riverbank |
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The moment of arrogance, and tried escape, to battle and its wayward blood.
A confinement of sorts for ships, in and out of ports. the pearl of beauty on its gentle streams afloat, and midsummer’s bounty will remain, not outdone.
The quiet and kind word: a quill and pen, ascribed.
Emily Isaacson |
Hymn |
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In wayward soul, the crimson blood my solace at duty’s measure, I alone must dwell: confined to death’s lament and hearing brethren, away from us, O death.
And sin, cannot its bearings place upon the confines of duty’s well-kept mires, the dark hath thou no figment that finds in us a home.
The meadow lark, no outward treason and single candle burns at spirit’s right. The night will never hold our love, and the seasons, harvest from above.
Emily Isaacson |
Baptism |
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Beneath the oak, my eyes married you and now I sink in your repose. e’er begotten, a son in my womb and the smile of fancy, a gentle god.
The waters cover me as I am changed to liken you after a spirit, to have clothing of decoration and hair of comely chestnut.
At first glance, I caught you and now, you sink beneath the earth.
Emily Isaacson |