Irradiated in corner rooms; they talk in sun drenched whispers,
Neath the sullen pines they lurk among the void
This varies, but they see the light shining down; touch forehead, look down.
Assuage the lot of them fears,
This varies, but they see the light of his crown; the absolute, the unknown
Who knows a lot of their fears,
Lit fire burns those left behind.
Copyright © Tim B