Lest the exquisite beauty of all that tempts me, consume me, I set my eyes north.
As I search for a solution, I notice an answer; soaring so high above. Ethereal wings of saintly proportions grace her, my answer.
Oh God, who is this you've sent? What is this peace that graces me in her fulfillment, my answer?
Have my oblations broken through the cracks in these clouds to reach you, Father? She, the disdain, whom always accompanies the lies I've embraced, seems strangely absent.
I pray my mind does not distrait, or this prevaricator may detonate.
So now, I beg, to engrave her, my answer, upon my heart. I will never again welcome dissonance, her chaos, in my soul.