Alone

Alone . . .
Yet the wild embers burn;
The howling wind still calls,
And I am but to answer
To my own, my sole survivor.
Depleted . . .
In the making of a life,
Where the crumbling forces gather
To hear the beckoned urge
Of redemption paused anon.
Ruined . . .
For the recompense of misdeeds
Brought to bear the guilt of desires,
And trample a soul, mortified,
Still yearning for a life.
Untold . . .
The truths go by in supple resistance,
Replenished not but to take my hand,
And guide me to the soothing resplendence
To brush the cheek of the Angel.


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