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The trees sway to the beat of Spring.
The air crisp and clean.
The wind marches tenderly to one's torso.
The birds sing as happy devours the sad and Christ holds his hand out to the frustrated.

Cold, hard, hidden environment in the manifestation of the true path.
Kinn, Storlie, Hagen, Alland-
All once
Living,
Breathing,
Effecting,
Eliminating.
Through those forgotten becomes as I now am.

In solace I inhale,
In pain I exhale.
Touch may or may not be thought of as striking,
Yet with those cool dark hands comes the perspiration buried within my pours.
Left to rot, left to rot by arrogance and ignorance.
One heart speaks as to say they own my soul,
Only to throw it on the backburner when a new love arises.
No pity for the strong.
No remorse for the gone.
Judgment of souls thrust into dust along with memories of sorrow and mercy now lost.

The trees flow with emerald.
The stones wash slate and ivory.
The crooked mossy blades leveled for feet that never come.
The scarlet flowing slowly beneath the rich soil,
On paleness,
In tears.
The glimmering eyes closed for eternity.
The answers tossed carelessly away by souls too blind to search for them.
The doctrine of forgetting created with the new life's love.
Peace a bravado behind the masks of fate.
Destiny calls and now you see why I'm here with them.

In Death's Gate.