Each day the void,
offspring of the primal chaos,
sows seeds of sorrow in my heart,
casts me forth less desperate than despairing.
Each day the void
folds strands of darkness in Her light ;
the morning’s brilliance dimmed,
dense vapors shroud the saving path,
no beacon sun to guide me.
Each day the void
echoes outward melancholic hymns ,
reinforces fears, amplifies anxiety,
shreds futures on the razor edge of present obligation.
Each day the void
stalks the wounded wanderer,
haunts dreams of liberation,
ensnares the spirit, magnifies the emptiness within,
tempts tragedy by magic flights of vanity
from Tyre’s towers.
Though thrown in isolation to a lonely realm,
I seek Her light and listen for Her song of inspiration,
with undiminished hoping for deliverance
originating from within.