The Hall

The Hall

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In the bleeding north

where the darkness of old blood

merged on winter stones

waiting for new wars,

a man rose to power.

Uncut, unbruised,

with his sword still in his scabbard,

with a shadow that clung to him

noon and night,

a man whose words

were spoken softly,

and soldiers leaned close to hear them

fearing that the word they missed

might be their death.

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- by - Published on

- by - Published on