Unknown souls reside
In the most deserted places,
Such as the minds of the Parallel
And the hearts that bear the rebellion,
The agonizing shadows that stalk
Behind the familiar faces.
Where the souls whom we do not know
Find places in the garden-like Arcady,
Its rustic magnificence and endless streams.
The whitest marbles that mirror the true form
Of one's self,
The sculptures of liberty and honor,
Enchanted voices of wood nymphs
That serenade every frightened heart.
The harmonious hands clasping together,
Souls traded their bodies for a one-way ticket;
This is where the last train stops.
The mind seeks for the Parallel
When a desire craves;
It reaches down to the deepest pit
From where the tree reaches down to the lowest ground.
Should its own branches reach the tallest clouds?
Behind the rushing blood
Of spirits being awakened,
Should the deserted soul
Stride its feet in the garden of Arcady?