Darkness, now it falls with clouded view,
Undiscerning with its judgement.
Caring not for whose mind,
It condemns with pestilence,
And heavy heart it haunts.

And this shadow, perched atop high battlements,
With all intent and deadly malice,
Casts me to the hollows,
In whose vicious subjugation,
The towering spires strangle all shimmering brilliance.

So the days of blissful peace I held,
Slip quietly through my fingers,
And leave your hands in mine,
As if to pass this burden on,
To whom do not deserve it.

Now, hardly rested and raptured by peace,
We sit below the oak, by a silent fire,
As the shadows fall upon my brow,
And cause my eyes to wither,
Welcoming this dense darkness.

Quickly now, these biting winds cast decency aside,
And turn bare the arms of the ancient oak.
With trembling ferocity, this foul devilry,
Wages schemes and usurptions,
On all hope and joy in this tranquil valley.

With all ill intent of vengeance and befouled iniquity,
Rise the twisted spires with bitter howling,
Tearing through vibrant soil to lofty gloom,
To cowl all beneath,
In inescapable perdition.

Once again,
I sink to fathomless mire.
And I despise,
How I must always fall…

Gazing up, I recall the cold nights of my youth,
How these skies were so illuminated,
Outside of the sepia aura of culture and progress,
And my days seemed consumed by time,
Rather than destitute by its absence.

And how we, the untamed children of the forest,
Danced beneath the full moons glow,
Encircling the wild fire and ash,
Howling defiantly at rapacious clergy,
Offering laughter as tribute to darkness.

We rehearsed words such as eternal,
And scoffed hard at death and the fall.
For every stone thrown and blade assailed,
We stood unflinching and dauntless,
As mighty as Caesar.

Still, all things shall find their end,
Once we learn to conspire and betray.
And once hands are still and accusations cease,
We are left with separate paths,
Reaching far beyond the refuge of the silent fire.

Still, we took to these roads with innocent surety,
And found others to bear the weight of actuality,
In all of its beauty and calamity;
Our nights spent walking by amber lanterns,
Consumed by somber contemplation.

Those nights it seemed fitting to mourn,
To feel the chill in my bones,
And lose myself to despairity.
Now, I cannot help but see the beauty apparent,
As we witness this horizon cloaked in violet vesper.

And at last I see the towering spires,
Crumble to the earth as the sun descends.
The shame in my failings and faults,
Now displays itself in harsh stasis,
And I can no longer hide it from you.

But once I learn to embrace with longing,
All I fear will strip away my joy,
I find myself delighted by peace,
Knowing there is ultimate delight,
Found in unending grace.

To house regret is naught but folly,
For it is well to be a disciple of heartache,
That I might now hold your hands in mine,
And be awestruck seeing now,
In your eyes a silent fire.

Note: Some things just have to be shown, even if you don’t think they are perfect…

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