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And now I see, the darkened skies,
Fade through black to gray.
The hate consumed in fires bold,
A falling, broken way.

Lies and faults like children’s toys,
Small and made of wood.
A cripple’s heart in burning ash;
Do you know now if we could?

Could be free to speak like us,
The truth, whole and eternal?
Could try to please ourselves as well,
And not just fold to them all?

For shame the fear within our hearts,
The candle’s wax of sorrow.
Dripping down, a grimy shell,
Emotions strained to borrow.

The dawning light, a million years,
Over countless yonder hills,
Can do no harm to those of stone,
With racks of ancient kills.

With heavy heart, like those but dead,
The masses stand to arms.
To arms, to arms, the insects cry,
And sound the bleak alarms.

Me, I stand on’ silent hill,
Up above the conquest.
The struggling war on life itself:
A Beast, its fearsome test.

With arms like snakes and countless eyes,
It watches ever-knowing.
The fear It strikes, the pain It names,
Is what keeps us from going…

From going? Forwards, towards that sun,
Over countless yonder hills.
The mission full of righteousness,
To conquer’ million ills.

Locked up inside, the key misshaped,
I sing my choral ode,
A droning hymn of softest pain;
A slimy dead abode.

In times once said, from those who knew,
A golden tower stood.
A beauteous thing, of hope and life,
That made the could a would.

But the Beast, all eyes and dangling arms,
Saw to its hateful fall.
As mortar rained and thousands wept,
It exhumed Its lustful call.

And so I sat, in dankest lodgings,
The smell of sulfur sickly,
And feet and arms to give me up,
With tinglings, sharp and prickly.

People can change, of course we can,
But perhaps through trail and torture.
True change occurs on the boldest of souls,
A thousand pieces stronger.

The gleam of the steel in the afternoon sky,
The shine of the warrior’s shield.
The beast, so foul, all eyes so swelled,
Would die before Its yield.

As rain did fall with harshest hate,
A sweeping, lifeless deluge,
The Beast and all who stood in dread,
Took and saw refuge…

The Tower, there, with rising sun,
Again a source of light.
All who saw did stand in awe…
And regained that valour to fight…

The spirit within that defines all our souls,
The courage to be but ourselves.
Now glorious days of our own simple pleasures,
As the uncertainty subconsciously delves.


The people, they fought! For spirit and land!
Against that vilest of Beast.
With the shriek of a harpy and the thunder of doom,
Its life was the wind’s sweet feast…

And so, my cage, with that unopened lock,
Swung forth to see land whole.
The radiance bloomed from the Beast’s death place,
Marked with crater-like hole.

The Tower (the Tower!), the beacon of joy,
A sense of being one’s own.
With dusty black windows and a mountain of smoke,
Your life’s how it’s been known…

I no longer see the darkened sky,
Fade from black to gray.
A golden glow does shine up high,
Lighting up the way.
And the yonder hills of valleys far,
Dazzling in the new rays.
Are crossed now and then, the land of the True,
For the rest of fulfilling days.