Soundless in an overshadowed realm.
what gust of wind -breath of god -is ever still?
crumbling; all time is swept away;
the fever of memory. repentance is a two-fold scheme...
sea against shore.

Evinced in solid and shape; the orchestra of breath.
gaze sternly over agony lying in state. poetical apotheosis;
they are not created to die! frantically grasp the terror of allowyal.

I cannot feel now...anger...hatred... what have I become??
torn from death's lifeless tree. those far reaching shadows...
I am ripped from the earth; the air; the depths!
you cannot make the dead live again.