The Black Owl

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Sacrament of the Wild

In the blackness of night,

During midwinter magic,

A shy dove takes to flight,

Above the snow capped mountains,

In the valley of ice fountains,

Through the pine trees,

The dove flies free,

Awaiting the stroke of midnight tragic.

The dove wing soars,

A totem of unknown creation,

A sign of pure protection,

Of life and death,

It's white wings burned to the ground,

Lost and alone, by the dark, it was found,

With shallow breaths,

The dove's wings lie in wait.

I want to have it all,

We must control the world,

With fire in heaven,

Battle in the night sky,

We fly away, higher and higher,

I still hear them chant.

"The sacrament of the wild,

Bound by an unforgiving child,

Naked in the snow,

An angel unbound to the sky,

It's wings torn, to never fly.

Underneath a stunted pine, to never grow."

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