Sanctorum 2001-07-02
Who died, that I must mourn so long?
Why live, when eyes' spark is gone?
A decade spent in restless sleep;
a decade spent at sorrow's feet.
"Wisdom to see what cannot change";
but wisdom lacking, how does one gauge
which ghosts to see as mortal foe
and what is only illusion to throw?
"Strength to change what must not endure";
but strength sapped, where is the cure?
Exhausted by emotion's drain,
there's no one left to break the chain.
And so I walk my fields of grass,
and drink from lakes as still as glass,
soft and calm, an empty peace,
until the past will be released.
Perhaps the future holds the key:
the death I mourn is only me;
a paradox, recursive coil
no savior's might can truly foil.
Thus, somewhere must be found new life
and inner calm replace the strife -
a surge of power, strong and true
to light the flame that once burned blue.