Hearth ablaze in thine wretched flame,
myn voice shaded with echoes of the past.
The hart yearns in desperation.
For what cannot be true.
Moirai swathe myn leechman finger.
I swayed with his shadow,
The footsteps ring in eclipsed time.

Myn perception gleamed with webs of
Scenes brought about from faraway lands
Where laughter brims and gleeful sprees.
Myn eyes sewn shut, binded away from candour.
This is blasphemy! Douse thy witch!
Yet myn ticker only steals what it ought.
No one dared peer into a frigid, vile soul,
That desires for the unattainable.

The chasm of time solemnly stood by,
Rifting, dragging, rupturing what myn own hands,
Wretchedly, desolately, lovingly clawed at.
I refuse to let go of what has never been.
Basking in the glory of myn own horizon,
Brought to life by myn own blood, sweat and tears.
The scarred lamb pray thee show’st mercy!
‘Misguided’ by its own shepard who long run dry,
Which has been a mistake of its own.