Grasping at the stems
Arises truth again,
Simplicity foreseen, yet
The gleaming light scarcely trickles through the ambry of doubt.
Instead, I order a drought of connection
To compress sentiment into pretending
The realm of joy lies in the pending
While open scars await mending
Lending the drive to the hindrance of worth,
While sheer resolution was gifted at birth.
A humble union with the grounds of earth
And what lies upon her
Shalt not wither the war of mistrust
Nor the gyves of yearning end,
May the moment be still
A cry to transcend.