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Hopeless Mysticism
In the cold air
above a misty and frozen plain,
there lies a shadow
who yearns for new quarters of home and security.
Years pass,
the plains frost and thaw; an endless cycle.
The soul of the passed one still remains,
still searching.
Eventually, as is with most things,
the chain is broken
and nature is faced with the onslaught of chaos.
War destroys the land,
alas, never harms the soul.
Gazing upon innocently,
he watches as senseless war is committed below;
a sigh is given, and he moves on.
The olden mystic weeps.
o.O Eerie.
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