The Tripod Mantra Poem by Job Laz

Grace of old! Come alive from
Underneath the golden sun ray
Say I again, come!
Toll atop beauty's arms, come
Annals of hideous birth
Venting about a haven bright, come
Elysian cherubs with joyful hymn, for

Joyful ever
I remain to chant; come
Meters of graceful gash
Minted for unsullied return
Yelling; come lay with me

Lie within my eyes, be
Obviously mine
Repressed in my sigh
Doped in the stench of my warmth

Ah! How I crave deeply
My hands you come to take; come
I am lost ‘less you call
Rid me of my pine and tears

My restless groan
Yelling, come

Grind my pride to dust
Own my heart, come
Daring hearts of old, come
Still my hurts and shred my torment