Heal the missing gloss,

As they were held within the pack
and through the mist,
 silhouette's, still freeze
and onward trot.
Bodhram drum, stretched skin
form the backdrop,
knit the patterns.
Gods may turn and look
for the pole that beats,
like the metronomes tick.
Burn the wick, short in the lantern
raise the heartbeat, pulse the veins.
Antecedence, walk with us in greying form.
Upon the runes with polished gleam
hidden everyday, that nature writes,
winds laid deep, our stalker match our stride.
Terms. the acapalla's earthy base,
tossed in the air the grain of all terrain.
 So luck and chance
be cult dressed black,
the foresight of the foot that taps.
Stir the termites
that skittle in our soul,
breed harmony with each vocal.
Painted empathy
forged with cleft's of care.
 Braille for the seeing ear,
reflect and most of all repair