What it is to be at peace, what it is to dream
Complacent lives sheltered by a porcelain heart
The very fragility, the genesis of what we are
Surrounding and enfolding the absolute
One are the weak and the strong in truth
Mausoleums of stone and concrete
Is idolatry of what makes us complete
The illusion of what progresses life
Mirrored upon the lips of the blind
Invention is born through necessity
But does not bind one and all evenly
A symptom of reckless need
Barren earth to plant a seed
Starless skies and absence of night
Crimson painted in pale respite
Wistful beauty of the ichor shore
A lone visage and none more
What it is to be at peace, what it is to dream,
All this and more, is what my eyes have seen.