That's so wyrd, or so I here,
To know that we’re, both far and near...
So says the wind, Whose truth within,
Flows in our kin, we of pale skin...
Blows upon the ice, squints our eyes,
And knows when each will live and die...
Through the heart with a blade,
Through the arts given age...
The masses afraid, some few we are sage,
Years past, days ahead,
leaden blast, swimming dead,
Films and books kept others fed...
Through the grass I walk,
in cloud I cough, in riddles talk,
And Press these Words upon this blog...
That each may know, they from the snow,
Those of a glow, from mountains flow...
Die unclean things, they do indeed,
And drown in swords,
by way of we, opposed to kings...
Into many candles I have gazed,
Through many incensed ash tree alters
have I praised...
These many layers peeled away,
And clearly I do see this maze,
through cherries stoked I blaze...
Focused and dazed, where shall I raise,
All they, Mahakali plays, attention pays and paid...