Soundless in an overshadowed realm. what gust of wind -breath of god -is ever still? crumbling; all time is swept away; the fever of memory. repentance is a two-fold scheme... sea against shore.

Evinced in solid and shape; the orchestra of breath. gaze sternly over agony lying in state. poetical apotheosis; they are not created to die! frantically grasp the terror of allowyal.

I cannot feel now...anger...hatred... what have i become?? torn from death's lifeless tree. those far reaching shadows... i am ripped from the earth; the air; the depths! you cannot make the dead live again.