Winds chime against my weakened face,
I am tired in the shadow of disgrace,
Fires fight against the sphere of sight,
I call him Drinniol, he will be my light,
Ripping through the fabric, the shadow approaches,
Against my will with the rest of the roaches,
Looking about, upon the plane like an old attic,
The treasures abound cease my fumbling static,
It took the end of a life for this incision,
And boldly I will rage with this mission,
Open the mind, step into the pool,
You’ll find the temperature amiably cool.

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