There lies a dark shrine hidden within our deep recesses,

Cobbled by petty lies and our mistakes uncommitted.

It lies empty, as our thoughts cannot cross the empty chasm,

The rift our society has taught.

Whilst it remains shrouded in a blanket of ignorance.


We all strive for it, yet it does not yield as the chasm deepens with fickle time.

For time is like the hypnotic siren, a mere illusion that drags us down the pit we have solely chosen.

The winds of neglect tear through the decaying altar as an old monk patiently recites a forgotten rhyme.

His placid gaze staring at a lost boy he cannot guide.


He waits for the boy’s arrival, yet he remains shadowed by the melody of the sweet siren.

After the siren’s voice hath tired.

His wrinkled hand stretches out to grasp the essence of its purifying light.


That’s when he discovers his inner purpose and the old man cold at his death bed was left wondering.

“Was it so simple?”