Semiprecious
By V.G.S/R.G.S/E.G.S. or Whichever you know me as.
The beings of old,
That have stood still upon the towers,
Are rising to their feet this day,
So can you hear them?
They have not gained a year,
And their heads are still held high,
Such magnificence beheld in the cold depths of war,
But then why are they feared?
Wings that match those of an archangel,
Eyes with the color of their stones,
And their beings sculpted as if by gods,
So then why aren't they beautiful?
Perhaps it is because they cannot be heard,
But are meant for hearing.
Perhaps it is because they are meant to be feared,
Not loved for their powers.
But 'perhaps' is a word that can be defied; dear friend,
For many have done so,
And now stand beside these winged angles,
Are you one of them?
The war is beginning now,
And these creatures have risen,
They ask you to make the final choice,
So upon this darkest hour,
Can you be trusted?
