Deep down the abyss trodden by my men
lies the solemn heat of a fire that itself had lit again
Fearful of warm accords - I hid it in my undergrowths
But alas! the winter thus fell
chilled the skies of the innate self
Glorious remissness now roamed the streets
Searching to forge their powers to peak
And yet I, for their master and slave
felt it not worthy to cold engrave.
But lost, I searched and begged and scorned,
beaten, rusted by cold and through abscond
At last I felt that power was loss
Heat was the need for flaura and fawn
Deep down the hallowed pits it lies
guarded secretly by the holy spies
Untold, unknown to the outer mine,
I crept to the doors of innate divine
And there behind the golden doors it stood-
Lo! The golden spires of animation stood
Dancing, twisting and with a hissing hood
It was cynical for only exuberance ever touched
lighting my kindling away from my rust
And yet again at my own sake I stood,
Pinching away its dark hood
And at once the divine now embaked
And I saw me in it at last.
The skies sang in the glory of dawn
The sun stood with a unfurled yawn
and the little tulips rose from new dust
the snow took with it all my rust
There I fell into the seas of dusk
as they withered from the realm,
I saw a little petal I saw
Before I on myself unleashed the last gnaw
Sulken, yet proud of what I did
I rose up again
trodden in the dust of a new dawn
I extend my eternal life's longing
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