The KeeperBlood drops and then it driesThe Keeper by SereneCyrene
upon the ground, below the skies.
Upon a hill, his nightmare born:
to be the keeper of the thorns.
And the keeper of the nails,
of the metal piercing veins;
his body ready to derail,
finds little rest in the terrain.
But the keeper, though now torn,
never ceases to remain
the very keeper of the Earth,
of humankind, of love ingrained.