like a moth to candle

the summerlands made home

a hollow shell, our utopia

now empty lies his oaken throne

veiled in mist, true revelation

secrets of this blessed realm

through life and death, commiserations

in struggle, valour to overwhelm

each day, another pain

each dawn I die, at dusk we pray

empty dreams in midnight clouds

cloaked in doom, the darkest shroud

sleep the years hind walls of silence

safe in cairns of deepest black

weary of strife, the rancour

strength of conviction, now flowing back

cast in iron our resolutions

the melting mirror would not show

reflections of a weaker side

only here are we all

I shall not drown in his golden tears

save. these truths for the weaker man

nor lay my head at his feet

to tremble as the meekest lamb

kiss me now for I have sinned

upon my brow a crown of thorns

ease this doubt with whispered promise

as I open my veins to greet the dawn