Pilgrimage

Trapped within decades of endless grief,
Relentless nostalgia renders mourning incomplete,
Beings of tar, souls of clay,
Horror compounded within,
Always restrained and never astray.

The promised ones disillusioned,
By words of conceit,
Shattered by their blood,
They stand alone deceived.

In my hollow empathy,
Their solace was once sought,
Now i lay cast aside,
Drowning in my own thoughts,
How can a world be just?
When there exists no scale?
To measure the pain of the afflicted,
And the extent of their dismay.

Would i have been blood,
I would not have this retreat,
Chiseled into my chest and bound to my feet,
Its weight i can feel
Drawing me into an endless sleep,
Would i rather wander there
Or plunge into my abyss of insanity?
To these voices i pay no heed,
For my savior be a mother's womb,
For whom i now seek peace.

Stretch out your hand and pull me afar,
From this quicksand of turmoil,
Springing from my scars,
I don't want to leave yet,
And abandon you again,
But if i must,
Will you promise to hide from me your pain?
For no matter how strong i be within,
i still have no will,
To go on about my appointed ways,
And leave behind your suffering.

Pray for me while i prepare myself to sleep,
Bleed again oh bearer, one last time,
For yours is an existence
Destined to be complete.

[Cluster III]