Cast out upon the starless, vast expanse
The senses find no purchase and grow numb.
The blackness turns the eye to inward glance
From whence the deeply mended visions come.
No sight, no sound: The language falls all still.
Without disturbance mind and ear grow keen
To listen to the heartblood's thund'rous trill
That echoes warped yet clear off walls unseen.
The barren wasteland feeds no healthy fruit
Beneath the castles that on mountains loom
And blacken Sol in power’s mad pursuit
To force heart’s tithe from those who face their doom.
The gods condemn the rulers of this place.
The saints may not deserve ill-gotten grace.