Robert S. Boone

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A breeze, a whisper:

I command you to rise.

Coursing through me, 

Redemption in my eyes.

Drifting below

(From atop my perch):

Their wandering minds

In everlasting search.

Long abandoned, 

Those precious hearts misplaced,

Oblivious

Of nostalgia erased.

"Your throne awaits, 

So rise, my child, and seek

Command of breath, 

For they heed as you speak."

With exquisite sight, 

Ominous sigh, 

And embattled cry,