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An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

My Fill of Answers is a poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On this grey day, in a valley deep in stoneWhere like shades from the dead yardSorrows come forth in milling shroudsAnd but a few leaves grey as mothscling to branches on the shouldered hillsides,Fluttering to the winds borne on night’s passingI knelt alone and made voice awakento call upon my godWaiting in the echoes as the day struggledUntil in fading the silence found formFor my fingers to brush light as dustAnd the crows flapped down into the treesTo study a man on his knees with glittering regardReminding me of the stars that moments beforeHeld forth watchful as sentinelsOn the sky’s wall now withdrawnbehind my eyesAnd all the words I have given in earnestAll the felt anguish and torrid will so sternlySet out like soldiers in furrowed

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  • My Fill of Answers
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  • My Fill of Answers is a poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On this grey day, in a valley deep in stoneWhere like shades from the dead yardSorrows come forth in milling shroudsAnd but a few leaves grey as mothscling to branches on the shouldered hillsides,Fluttering to the winds borne on night’s passingI knelt alone and made voice awakento call upon my godWaiting in the echoes as the day struggledUntil in fading the silence found formFor my fingers to brush light as dustAnd the crows flapped down into the treesTo study a man on his knees with glittering regardReminding me of the stars that moments beforeHeld forth watchful as sentinelsOn the sky’s wall now withdrawnbehind my eyesAnd all the words I have given in earnestAll the felt anguish and torrid will so sternlySet out like soldiers in furrowed
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abstract
  • My Fill of Answers is a poem by Fisher kel Tath. "On this grey day, in a valley deep in stoneWhere like shades from the dead yardSorrows come forth in milling shroudsAnd but a few leaves grey as mothscling to branches on the shouldered hillsides,Fluttering to the winds borne on night’s passingI knelt alone and made voice awakento call upon my godWaiting in the echoes as the day struggledUntil in fading the silence found formFor my fingers to brush light as dustAnd the crows flapped down into the treesTo study a man on his knees with glittering regardReminding me of the stars that moments beforeHeld forth watchful as sentinelsOn the sky’s wall now withdrawnbehind my eyesAnd all the words I have given in earnestAll the felt anguish and torrid will so sternlySet out like soldiers in furrowed rowsHovered in a season’s sundering of birdsWith no song to beckon them into flightWhere my hands now spreading like wingsBloodied in the passion of prayerLay dying in the bowlof my lapMy god has no words for me on this grey dayPallor and pallid dust serve a less imagined replyMute as the leaves in the absence of bestirAnd even the sky has forgotten the sunGive me the weal of silence to worry answersFrom this tease of indifference – no matterI am done with prayers on the lip of dawnAnd the sorrows will fadewith light" ―Fisher kel Tath
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