Windswept… a gentle breeze which sings for the harvest. These sweet melodies hide in plain sight, in fields of yesterday and truth, born forever on the sacred seasons of light. This frozen earth has called for my return, on distant bells of virtue – constantly ringing – a gentle sentiment covered by the finite dust of autumn.
I must hide now from the scarecrow, a spiteful reflection which dwells in the heavenly heart. Each beat answers with aggression, a sharp taste of honey that calls beyond the gloom. There is no courage to speak. My words have retreated, a deep remorse tarnished in the prejudice of my final act. My humble skin crawls with the memory of wicked deeds.
To walk these hallowed grounds, a lonely specter seeking shelter from the trees. Their ancient roots know my crime. I hear footsteps, jaded lovers marching through fire, the swift echoes of youth trampled by the fortunes of better time. Our vision grows dim, a flickering of faith resistant to war. It quivers and dies, a low candle blown cold in the night.
Never more has our grief weighed so heavy, an anvil pounding in the bleak factory of guilt. We are no longer young. These setting suns have diminished our pride, a dense chapter folded inward like a faded script. Our memories are creased and torn, sepia shadows that curse the withering of our naked years.
Walk with me now, beyond the graves of paupers and popes, past those who have scrawled their final word in sand. Walk with me. Hold my wrinkled hand. Touch this windswept heart as we begin our final voyage home, a fulfillment of our past and our present, a distant look into a future with no agony or pain. Walk with me, let us touch the stars and kiss the will of a better dream…