Ailin34

With heavy heart in hand, I feed it to the fire; This desolate spit of earth, where men meet in violence and souls clash upon shores of thought; Here I bring bells of white of lingering heavenly scent; Clouds skim the top of mountains like hands passing over graves; Kings bury princes for kingdoms and the winds come to steal the only laments kinsmen can offer; I have walked with bare feet over the backs of rocks to come here, to place tokens of prayer on all patches of unmarked ground, and though the gift I bear is by no means divine or sparse, these white bells ring with my voice for each prince who won't be crowned; Medieval poisionous blac