Journeying Unto Heathensphere




So fall into heathensphere

But how low to?

How low to?

The earth spinning, is the earth spinning.

Tides changing, are the tides changing.

The world never feels like something else,

The world never speaks of someone else.

No metaphors, none described.

The wanderers in the woods are the only true acolytes.

The moon howls back at the wolf tonight,

A purge is coming, she says.

The wolves have ticks to please,

Purges are pure in forsaken lands.

It was empty when we came,

And in emptiness we marched ahead.

Filling tea cups with stones,

A hungry life with stomach bugs.

Questions stop to unanswered pleas.

No room for war, no room for peace.

Slow death in a cafe parade,

Glittered skies with blossomed rage.

Distant from us is a miracle in bloom.

Some boundaries we leave uncrossed.

So fall into heathensphere with me

But how low to?

How low to?



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