Sulfur paves this journey of enigmatic bends
stinging as it lingers in the air, the swirls of liquid suffering
prance along the racetracks of mental exhaustion.
Withered streaks of dried flowers lay in seeping arms
of decades past, drenched with permeation...
This atonement - this lament, this grief
mottles the consciousness.
Completed, the lines emerge, so exquisite
as they stretch and twist on the locus to a demise
free of our controllable disposition.
Withstand this, oh childe
for when it vanishes, your point will be sanctioned.