In scarlet fields where fallen angels sleep:
a ground upon which mortals dare not tread,
where moves the image of the fallen man
who holds the star within his hand
beneath the shadow of a darkened sun:
intoxicated by the wine of life
we slumber through our days of emptiness
and blindness and forgetfulness.
Within the fire of awakening:
there lies the core of my triumphant self.
a spark ignites a freedom greater than all life,
my mystery profound.
Upon the altar where the chalice stands:
where coils the serpent round its offering
of knowing and of sight, the power to transcend
beyond the tyrant's throne.