Shallow grave of truth, follow me.
Unknown by time, but you live inside
my agonizing menagerie of unwanted wealth.
Traveling in time, but I have gone to you
in a different space. I am lost, and I see nothing
but pain in this time of reaping.
How will I rest when a light shines in my eyes?
My soul is exposed, and I look down.
I am unwanted by this world, but it calls to me.
Anguished elegance in my thesis of painful aptitudes
And vaulted pride. It sits away in despair.
Awaiting its return, but it whithers.
This moment, a precession of fallen leaves
as they are trampled by obective love,
but void of divine truth.
It wants me.
But will not save me.
The depth of this forest. Snow and wolves.
My feet crack, and the breath of my lungs freezes.
Kestrels see my wounds, buzzards circle me.
Guilded vanity embraces me.
It holds my hand.
But does the Eagle see me?
I need not my feet, as it will grasp my shoulders.
It will carry me onward. Not without scars.
This forest. I have learned not about my worth.
But His.
The Promenade
