The fields flourish by a cold droplet's grace, yet fall to ruins of a few fallen the more. And nothing can be done against determined winds.
As she was the beginning of everything he was an end to it all. An iron fist of will he doesn't comprehend nor controls. Dons the Cloak of Despair; wishing himself away:
His holy trinity consisted of heaven, hell and purgatory. The inevitable battle he knew he would face in the eye of his beholder - for he could not fathom the weight of responsibility he had upon her soul.
As nothing can be done against determined winds, but to hide. And
Accept.
Built on wonderful words by a wonderful lady. Took a while but we got there.
I wrote a poem with someone called Fayre, guys. How ******* cool is that?