By way of fate
you separate your heart
from what is real,
for in your knowing imposition,
you exhume appeal.

It is to turn away from flowing,
that you learn of ever growing
things within your own pariah's haven.

Patronize yourself in madness;
flicker in the dark.
Surround yourself with solitude,
and isolate your art.

You are the voice of ages.
You exist to turn the pages
fate is writ upon,
and wrought from nothing,
you will carry on forever.

Hark, your inner voice
is stark and screaming.
Rise.
Uncompromising
in your gleaming