On the wayside
of life
In the fog
the breath
past time
the gods
prescribed in words
in the coffin
of the albums
forever in
books buried
the sick rejoice
Souls through
colored
in lead
composed
Window glass
sifted
light
the choir
in ritual
the assembled
before the believed
holy grail
only owned by a few
that furrowed
of bad and good
the eyes
lived through
her face
counts in the end
the little
done something
what the
better ones
in humility
from the
Heart thought
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