Poetry / Mien of the Ancients

The mien of the Ancients, connecting bone and marrow
History tattooed on every cell of my being
Whispers in secret meeting, conducting my hand

An effortless pool of maroon is fashioned,
I scribe their words in tepid cruor
Forfeit of meaning, just hunger is assured

Like a drama set before me
I watch the past unfold
And take heed the lessons given

And remember.

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