.2

transcendence

on barren fields of winter's crushing cold
emotion, pride and grace all come to none.
and your deity has chosen not to help you this time
it falls apart, struck by the tainted winds of misery.

an irritating feeling of our prosaic thoughts
reverts the hope and faith we have to fear.
bound by something of our own creation
the heart wants most, what the mind can not take.

like cowards we wait for great reform by otherworldly hands.
a paradox occurs,
the circle survives,
an aether realm exists in our sacred plain.