Folding upon folds,
The grey turns frighteningly cold,
Falling from beyond,
Bright's crown to inevitably despond,
Paling light unflinching,
Descends in gradients unattended,
Without flame or flicker as a life,
But still and sterile as a thing.

I found a new way to sit on a stool,
A single quarter seated,
Three abseiling in the air,
And to level: I'm just kneeling,
With wood legs just right there,
Right behind me upside drifting,
On my calves - so please beware,
I like to wobble this stool neatly,
Until it clatters everywhere.

Close your eyes,
And think of deepest night,
Seeping through the lidded gaze,
Dark and deathly,
Harrowing and still,
Repulsive even to the twisted mind,
Deeper than the deepest fright,
Such darkness is there chained forever,
Never breaching the light of life,
Never marring lovely times,
He won't allow such reckless spite,
Not in its fullness,
Not in its blights,
For grace abounds in groaning days,
For mercy falls as monsoons rage,
And all is washed in patient gaze,
He will not watch in passive might,
He gives a chance to broken kites,
To fly again.