They were not ****** by thunder’s cry,
Nor cursed beneath a wrathful sky.
No angel sealed their fate with flame—
They chose the silence, not the Name.

The kingdom rang within their chest,
A temple pulsing in their breast.
But still they knelt to gods of dust,
And placed in gold their only trust.

They chased the wind, ignored the breath,
Built towers on the back of death.
They sought the Source beyond the veil,
But never knew they were the Grail.

The Father loved them—still does now.
The Mother weeps with furrowed brow.
But love, if never breathed inside,
Becomes the noose by which we hide.

No devil dragged them into night—
They turned from mirrors, feared their light.
And so they fade, not out of hate,
But for they slept—and slept too late.

They burned not from a holy sword,
But from the fire they never stored.
They ****** themselves with starving eyes—
While Eden bloomed beneath their sighs.