I am chased by the hand of darkness, fitted in gloves of dread, patiently, it sits by my side, waiting to consume the remaining morsels of my life.
Gradually, I am devoured from within, the cannibalistic forces of death draining my fluids of life, as I slip further down the ladder of control, my fingers clawing in frustration.
Rising up before me, I see the Empyrean plains of nature, its rich loam soil glistening with the paradigms of life, one from which I rose, another yearning for my return.
I reach out, touching the fingertips of an angel, as it crushes the hand of darkness into the light of truth, exposing a chain tethered to spiritual dogma hidden within.
Resting in the palm of God, Acanthis bathes my ears with tranquil songs of divine love, washing away my lingering fears, for I am at peace, resting upon a bed of roses.