To the sound of your name,
I float like a ghost,
Wistfully.
Will sworn to meta-physicality.
Beyond any hill or heap,
I would mount the skies
No sooner than anything.
As you gradually pile among the clouds,
Your heavenly hosts,
Awaiting any chance at glory,
Shine stone-bright and inaudible,
Sacred and remote.
To the sound of your name,
I would march alongside them,
The steady beating of the chest our metronome.
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