Patron of all my Saints,
Cosīn to my sīn,
Right angled with angels.
St. Michael--tell me where to go.
I love you like Songs of Song---
Felt all of your love play with the entropy of existence---
Entangled---
Ecclesiastic: turn, turn, turn.
Time—entropied away.

Goodbye to the lights.  
The sky lights.
False suns and moons.
False stars and light blooms.

Different versions of the truth.
And even more distorted untruths.
Clocks with numbers that don't make sense.
Surrounded by walls of forest too vast and dense.

Goodbye to the sky.
The broken cracked sky.
False blues and blacks.
From open eyelids seeing through the cracks.

The morning has arrived.
Awaken and alive.
We were just part of the dead dreams.
Our universe was just scrambled thoughts and themes.

In this twilight.
Darkest below.
I take in the light.
Farthest below.

The dust in the air.
Ashes in your hair.
Last beginning of a night.
With no morning in sight.

The path of shadows.
Toward the afterglows.
Take my hand.
To this new eternal land.

The psithurism of the forest sang a song to a memory that did not belong to me.

It lit up a part of my mind and created a sort of nostalgia for a time I never knew.

Sciamachy took place after the remembrance of something I did not remember.

The brontide of an oncoming storm added the bass in thunder to the song of the forest.

These memories not my own were ineffable beyond meaning.

I wonder if these memories were once mine from another time.

The structures in the clouds.
Sky castles of tomorrow.
Kingdoms of the sky.  
Above world.

I walk the trails of Below world.
With serenity above.
The view of views.
Vaults of heavens and Cities of Arcadia.

I fish the ponds and brooks.
For a late dinner with her.
The evening skies bring the lights.
Hevenly lanterns of Above world.

We dine under the Sky Kingdoms.
As the evening gives way to the night.
The moons ride high.
One crescent and half full.

All is beautiful.

The endless night between stars.
I pass through on a voyage to nowhere.
Ethereal nebulas painted by galactic empyreans.
Beautiful mystic serenity.

I love these travels.
The ones to nowhere.
You just leave in all directions.
No maps or legends.  

You really never find where it takes you.
Its endless and eternal.
Beginnings with no ends.
Forgotten Gods remembered.

One last breath of winter.
To cool the spring.
The shadows of the forest begin to sing.

The season begins to paint the lands and the sky.
No mistakes of colors or lies.
All is where it should be as this season dies.

The songs of spring begin to sing.
Melodies of flowers and pollen it brings.
Verses of animal litters and bee stings.