My Throne in The Silent Heights

Dance at the heels of wolves who would trample damp fields alone,
And as they run, snap at them here in the silent heights,

Where coldness lends to worrisome torment,
And where all my rage against time and it's frightful lament,

Shred the threads of my fears against her cold, lonely nights,

Nights bound in submission, held down, found shackled and sewn,
Found locked in - here at the base of my feathered, poetic throne,

Alone, I must rage knowing my rage is silent, it's turbulent ocean meant,
To open up all inner emotion, fleeting and without true body,

Where it is, the essence of my only real emotion - doth find true consent.

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

Wow! I love it Powerful, Inspirational

mo Baby, yer peaches with me!

tommo / Ireland

What can I say but.

Tazz,

You Da Man, pal! You Da Man!!

tommo / Ireland