So I speak to myself again through the ink of my pen and I seek to ponder once more. It is because I have more time. I have crossed the much busy marketplace and am now at the ends of my battle. But the war rages on. Certain resources from the previous battle survived and some were lost. New avenues will be called upon in this ongoing heresy. Yet I doubt any result coming out of it till the day the sun sets and the carnage is replaced by remorse for the fallen ones and the feeling of bewilderment about the origins of this tirade.
I felt not wrath
Nor the hand of God
Inside me I find solace
Rejecting what I might see
The boughs of a tree
Leaning beneath this weight
Constricted movement
Through the halls of know
Misty eyed and awed
By sultry works of no joy
Why heaven besieges me
Through joys utter unknown
Lest a mortal cry
Foul play is at hand.