Born of something less than enough
Child of quietude and self introspection
With movements of mercury hidden beneath liquid mirrors
While sunsets line the edges of blinded eyes
Different things whisper their pleas
From dawn to dusk- severed lies
And nothing more than golden tears
To mark the steps of destiny
As she moves about in her waltz of time
Her brother, Fate, and his cruel ties

Blasphemies litter the ground
As children scream in pain
Godless devotions
Rising again
And you call yourselves civilized
But nothing more than colored lies

You all who walk the shadows within
Finding nothing more to eat
Starved of your own sin
And gluttonous for the punishment it brings
Speak to me not of your tongues
Nor its sacriligous hosts

Tell me when its over
Come knock on my door
And tell me you're better
When you've all dropped your swords
Until then, seek ye not the hands of the olde
They will not touch your fingers
Nor their sores

They'll not heal your minds
Nor show you the paths of the Divine
You shall see the retribution of your blood
As it drips from ebony wood
Atop of the moons
On statues of neither evil nor good
Simply as they are

Father where ever you may be
You left her behind
Didn't look back as you traveled your signs
Looking for prophecy but only to find mimicry
And mother, you were the same
Martyr who died in vain

Touch you not the trees and ask their eyes
They'll not listen to your coaxing lies
And nothing more to find these still hands
Who seek blindly across the land
Knock not upon my door
Until you cease your childlike actions
I'll not heal your sores

Peace has been broken
And you've all seen the same
But blinded you still are
By your dreams of riches and the same.

Knock not on my door.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Fas, in the year 442 AD.