The Yielding

The Yielding

I have yielded
Yet,
against my will.
The light which now guides me
is not my own.
Sweet death,
Sweet bird,
carry my news to the kingdom.
Their prince,
their King,
has succumbed to darkness.
Who shall lead them?
Who shall show compassion now?
Fly little bird, fly far.
Find thy knight.
Seek him who does not sleep.
Only then will the beast be bated,
his jaws set,
the teeth imprisoned.

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