A desert
Its sands covering the ancient statue,
A monument to Her,
The goddess of pain.
I humbly kneel before her,
And she will not acknowledge me,
So it is, I understand,
The pain of her rejection
A forest
Shrouded in the cool mists of memory,
Memory of torment;
And the trees whisper my name,
They tell me how I have grown strong,
Tell me the torments of childhood
Made me strong
Yet, how is it that I am strong?
When the weight of a memory
Can crumble me beneath it
A lake
It boils in a miasmic conflagration,
And above it,
Storm clouds from the shadowlands;
I cannot see the guiding stars,
Nor is there a leading hand outstretched,
To be lost, I dare not;
And here, by this cauldron-lake of blood
I wearily make respite.
Laconic and transient, I slumber,
The voice of lacuna thunder shatters my peace,
Apathy is my response
Before this lambent tempest overhead;
And again I slumber
Another desert
Its winds tearing my flesh away,
Though ague, I find a Wisdom’s well,
There I quaff
For the sake of my cognitive reliquary,
And I am sated
As I rose, I also fell
So I contemplate my destiny:
Is this wisdom I have gained,
Greater than that which I have lost?
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