What Fresh Hell Awaits?

 

What Fresh Hell Awaits?

 

What fresh hell awaits?

What nightmare lies behind the doors of Sanctuary?

I must be resolute,

stand and face the coming tide.

The ebb and flow of things to come,

rain falling on the just and unjust alike

but I know that helium’s turned hydrogen when I shine.

Saturated,

radiant darkness

born to suffer

the sweet and the sour of some star-crossed lover.

Great stories endure and injuries fade,

weathered and worn by the life-giving rain.

Time is the villain of the experienced and proud.

We wax and we wane like the cold winter moon

and there isn’t a doubt that we’ll all disappear hardly making a sound.