a broken refrain

heavy are the hearts of those who carry the burden of many,
light are the souls lifted above this temporal hell.
running, running, running is all they ever do;
circumstance shall have its say in regard to what may,
but never to what is:
truth is unearthed in the midst of such sorrow---


she sat head cupped inside both hands, elbows buried between knees;
then an almighty voice spaketh,

"My daughter, my warrior, you cry out for the world, for its brokenness as if I have not already overcome. Stand up and proclaim: it is finished. For I have paid it all."


heavy are the hearts of those who carry the burden of many,
light are the souls lifted above this temporal hell.

meaningless, meaningless this all is; a chasing after the sun!