Now there is some sort of truth in flashes,
a challenge to endure,
to let the change within me speak,
the words not mine alone,
but of that mystery that feeds me
from the spring of life,
the axiom of who I am.
However I may fight the god within me—
tear out his heart lodged stubbornly
within my chest, once more.
And yet the end is mine;
the means upon my hands.
the surging life my talisman.
It is the sweetness cloying,
the simpering surrender underneath my feet,
the colloquy of rage that fires my lust
of conquest now before the burning dies.
The skies are tempered now with
some divine forgetfulness enabling
a kingdom's power, a trust left far behind.
That glimmering across a far horizon fades
and truth is relative; the whispers
of an old, worn-out eternity
are now discarded as a dream
of old millenia, now let it go.
There is a triumph waiting over there,
clear, but light upon my mind
like blood beneath the snow.