Awe, the holy dwindled light,
bewildered by the affliction of sight.
As dreary as the counting of beat,
of all the passing strangered feet.
...
Your painfull loss is a serpent that goes,
unbound, unhinged, unchained, it grows.
Slithering, squeezing, swallowing all it meets,
turning your loss into their defeats.
...