Burned into the tattered tapestry of the foreboding sky
Are faded traces of forgotten sunlight;
As the fragments of ashes rain
Scattered over the vast distance
That separates contentment from isolation
Futility is absolute, and alone and misguided are those
Who would tread this mire; so cold and deep
Lost are all who traverse these ominously twisting paths
For hope is only a mockery of its own illusion