The Guardian by S. E. Johnson

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The Guardian

He stands like steel in the sun,
Vigilance his naked sword,
Wings arched above his head,
He utters not a word,

The deafening silence of his face,
God of the fortunate son,
Bane of darkness and its oppressors,
I kneel before this majestic one,

In kind he turns his benevolent gaze,
His sword mere inches from my throat,
Radiance like starshine on my face,
Most would pause to gloat,

I am infected by his presence,
Consumed with seeds of hope,
Steel fingers grasp a head bent low,
Fallen I grasp the mercy rope,

Embraced within his angelic gaze,
The guardian of tragic souls
I melt into his stern embrace,
Enslaved by eyes as fiery coals,

He bids me come to stand a'near,
I am his until the dangers pass,
The scent of him intoxicates,
Yet none may reach beyond the glass,

My guardian stands like shining steel,
I am succored from any wrong,
Unfulfilled in his placid silence,
His ears will never hear my song.