Carved in stone, lost in time, freezing my parted smile,
Peering down into the unknown, I sit next to you, toting my arms:
Where is the world that breathed you to life?
On this lonely peak, tires upon tires of hopes and dreams retreat into the the terraced spirals of mists; Every mystical dawn dissolves into the lakes.
Gnomes bear the burden of mysterious gates to the beyond, as whispers tiptoe to strains of the Quijongo.
Here epochs and worlds end. And counts begin all over again.