Here stuck in stagnant fog and cold,
My solace is to cling to you.
Clutched to my heart, the chill abates;
And yet, I know what I must do.

Though you'd carry my heart away,
I know that you may never be
Suited for life on this here ground;
For that cause, I must set you free.

Let God's breath fill your lofty wings,
Winds raise you up towards open sky!
Be free, o wingèd spirit fair,
If fate so beckons, you must fly!

The ones with needle teeth that clamp themselves onto your brain,
Accusing with shrill voices 'till you've all but gone insane --
Succumb not to despair as you stare them right in the face.
Their threats are void of meaning to the one covered by grace.

The ones that have enslaved you to a thirst for toxic wells,
Guiding you as by leash, hunger consuming all your cells --
In desperation they wage war because their time is brief,
For they know that the Son of Man is coming like a thief.

The ones that feed and fester in the hearts of evil men,
Devouring the innocent and brooding in their den --
Their woeful fates in Heaven's scrolls have already been sealed,
For all the cruel shall soon be judged, and all the wounded healed.

The ones to which the Earth seems small clutched in their ****** hands,
Oppressing, stealing, killing, forming wicked schemes and plans --
Take heart, and rest your soul within the Shepherd's wings' caress!
Some day, even their knees will bow, and their tongues too confess.

Attempt they will to crush you, and to ***** our your faith's flame,
But see how legions of them cower when they hear His name!
Like roaches from the light they flee, His roar ceases their din.
The darkness trembles before Him, for in the end, we win.

Father, listen, do you hear
The wailing spirit's desperate sound?
See you the black despair
That like a python 'round his neck is wound?
His light, it flickers, dimmer seeming,
As he off his hope is weaning,
As the stars all fall careening
From his eyes down to the ground.
He wonders if You've vanished,
Or if 𝒽ℯ is lost to ne'er be found.

Father, I know that You
And your compassion for us Men are real.
Your hands can still do miracles,
My eyes have 𝓈ℯℯ𝓃 them work and heal.
So hear my prayer as I plead
For this dear soul in dire need --
Set him from this bleak shadow freed,
Wrap him in love that he can feel!
And if he must these fires endure,
Then forge him into stronger steel.

I only dream of reaching you,
Here grounded on this patch of Earth.
Yet all the same, I'm richly blessed
To see your beams of silver-blue,
And sights of all the landscape dressed
In brilliance that gives Night its worth.
What are the dark hours without you?

I won't fear men whose hands cause pain
Or those that hunt the young like wolves,
For beneath the wings of my Lord is my shelter,
And He serves His justice a hundredfold.
I won't fear men whose abandon the weak
Or those that tear this body apart,
For my Savior promised He'd always be with me,
And someday, life in my new form will start.

The moon has yet again been touched
On every side by light of sun,
And with the unrelenting march of time,
A new lament's begun.
What good's a heart made heavy
By affections idle and unspent?
And what's a sanctuary
Where no precious thing is ever sent?
Come to me soon, my hope and vision,
Longingly I wait for you!
Imagination mocks me
With a stream of fancies not yet true!
Your face, it is an ever-shifting blur
I almost can behold,
Bejeweled with dark and starry eyes
That shine as freshly polished gold.
Your skin, it would be tender,
Colored peach-pink with a brush of rose,
Your tiny form light as a cloud
In my embrace as you repose.
Your smile, it would contain the sunlight,
And your laugh, the breath of spring,
And as you dream in peace embosomed,
To you I would softly sing.
These images delight me
And revive the fires of my heart,
But then the vapors from which they were made
All scatter and depart.
Oh little unformed soul,
Your warmth within my arms I still know not.
Your phantom weight upon my chest
Has many hopes and sorrows wrought.
The record keepers of the sky've
Declared another wait in vain,
So let this wasted flesh mourn with me
In these coming days of rain.

Every creative soul requires
A certain set of friends.
Companions that will guide their pencils,
Paintbrushes and pens.
One needs small voices in their ear
Inspiring every work.
My closest of such friends are Liebe,
Elend and Ehrfurcht.

"Create a masterpiece,"
Says Liebe, sat beside my desk,
"That captures his fair image,
So perfect and picturesque!
Write down the thousand flattering words
Stored up within your heart.
Assign them rhyme and rhythm
As lyrical written art!"

"Spill out your pain and grief," says Elend,
"Onto a blank page.
Make image and analogy
Out of your fear and rage.
Must you release your anguish
As a scream into the sky,
I'll help to make it tasteful --
Pleasing to both ear and eye."

"Share with the world the light you found,"
Chimes Ehrfurcht, eyes aglow,
"That made you fall in love with living
And renewed your soul!
Discovery, courage, hope,
Glories of Heaven and of Earth!
Proclaim with verse and color
That which gives this life it's worth!"

Some days I seek their counsel,
And they're nowhere to be found.
Others, I'm nagged unceasingly
By these three voices' sound.
More helpful friends I cannot find
To aid me in my work.
My personal muses are Liebe,
Elend and Ehrfurcht.

Oh God, how long until my woes
Transfigure into peace?
Until the violent storms inside my skull
Will finally cease?
Until the gaping emptiness
I feel beneath my ribs
Is filled with warmth and joyousness?
That's all I plead You give!

Around me I see people full
With water, meat and wine.
I see them eat together --
Oh, how carefree they all dine!
When hunger hasn't gripped my gut,
I've gorged on rotten meat.
And when my throat has not been dry,
Vinegar's been my treat.

Please give me, Lord, a future hope
That isn't a mirage.
I look for peace, but pain attacks
In relentless barrage.
My spirit grumbles -- do take ear
And help my soul to thrive.
Mend this broke heart and give me strength
To want to be alive.

Every fire that's consumed it
Has gone cold and left it charred,
And every arrowhead that's pierced it
Has left it bleeding out and marred.

No love has it received
That was not done so with great pain,
And none has it yet given
That has not it wrung and drained.

Now no young man's embrace
Offers me warmth that I can feel,
For now my heart is guarded
By a cold permafrost shield.