'Help is always within our grasp but we might never see it for what it is.'
The phantasmagoria was mesmerising,
The ghostly figures dancing beneath the twilight.
As the dying sun set behind the barren horizon,
The stars awoke, shining their unholy light upon us.
We moved between ethereal waves,
Moving beyond our cosmic cage.
Our hands touched, intertwined,
Dancing upon our phantasmal stage.
Beating wings, intensify,
Going towards their seraphic calling,
We hold our hands together, as one,
Marching towards our final destination.
A helping hand, a mournful cry,
An eternal dream what means to die,
Here we find our equilibrium,
Our truth and balance.
A truth the underlying lie,
Unifying the universe,
Moving to where we dare not go,
Somewhere that lies just within our grasp,
But shall we never see it for what it truly is.