Held in place by an insatiable jolt, he heeds.
A feminine landscape, gracious in its bearing
and fiducial in character and grace,
commands the screen by way of a privileged audience.

Words of a genuine spirit are uttered,
producing a flavor of static serenity
potent enough to lead the meek away from sorrow
and into her pacifying warmth.

Majestic, both in name and persona,
normalized greys are cast aside
in favor of Kore’s illuminating, celestial sky.
Wrath disintegrates at her muted embrace and euphony.

William himself would reanimate
had life given him the gift of time
in servitude of the Priestess and her
tender and captivating adjudication:

“Et’rnity beest ****’d f’r having did produce an embodiment of majestic grace.”