I stand in the middle of a cold barren high desert.
Winds of winter howling…
Alone it seems, as I straining hear the silence exert,
Power Divine! I’m cowling…
In the Presence of this Holy sound my ideas dessert!
All dreams flee with yowling!
Whimper, return to netherworld; must die or convert!
Ultimate Truth is de-fouling…
This barren land is a cold mirror of what I am; only dirt!
In me I see the evil prowling…
Condemned if I should choose to ignore this Holy alert,
Finality! Death’s wind howling…
If I decide to remain in my barren state and reality skirt,
Defy God and rise fist growling!
Winter icy desert isolation only a taste of my future hurt,
If I deserving of Holy scowling!
Remain in a desert turned hot to burn fools who pervert,
Ignore Holy Wind’s cowling!