sublime in these moments of solace,
cut deep by the pain of a lost minute,
turned cold from within,
your lungs begin to freeze.
you remember that its not what it couldve been,
lesser than knowing that nothing is content within the limitations of the mind.
i gather a bundle of dead branches within my hands and toss them to the ground,
breaking corners of childhood memories that have no place within the depths of a mortal malice.
feelings do to,
but sessions of light that verbirate a holy fold build within themselves to manage a guidiness.
to capture a single sight of lashing greatness will leave nothing.
burnt into the ground are markings of elder saints,
waiting for a describition of their sailing ship.
bound for new lands to soil.
souls burn in hell.
still rotting their physical self,
they burn from diease and wounds
that heal only just,
letting the sinners know that their exsistence is one of pain?