Sanctuary

At hell’s gate we stand, winded,

Exhausted from days of running

For the time of the salvation,

As it was once said:

                                ‘Everything will live again.’

But will it?

 

Death has lived a thousand years,

We bow in his tyrant grip,

Marched over by his shadow armies;

They cut with lightening,

They roar with thunder,

Fire is left in their wake,

They execute the will of their master,

We hide in holes and caves.

 

For thousand years we’ve cried,

Praying to hope, to fate for deliverance,

Hope has lived long enough she’s half dead,

Fate- the sisters have lost themselves,

Struggling against themselves,

Losing hope in themselves.

 

Now we’re left alone

As it was said:

                       ‘For at the turn of time,

                       Even the skies will lose their will for height,

                       Falling down to your souls

                       While you share their anguish-

                       Death has killed their sun,

                       Their only son; their firstborn.

                       In vain hope you resist,

                       Bands of heroes form in stealth and cunning

                       Slaughtering Death’s soldiers,

                       One after one has died, till he finds out,

                       And multiplies your sorrows- he kills your firstborn also.’

 

A thousand years passed, and we’re still here,

Running- ever running, looking for the sign,

A sign, anything, a sliver of hope,

That perhaps Hope might live again,

And Fate will turn the world again.

Until then, our sanctuary is two steps away from hell.