From the most fair in eternity see
The lineage which you have left behind.
In mind fruits fall ripe with your memory,
Yet all secular suffers, left to find
Redemption in new springs lost in seasons
Rooted in presence never returned.
Causing natural sacrilege void of reason
And perjuring sin with question’s still burn.
Now, you take hand in every seed that is sown
And serve as muse to mend lines both formed and torn
From my heart that bleeds ink onto this page one.
Hear more of this endless effort forlorn.
For your return is beseeched by humble craft
And rage acquiesced til my pen breathes last.