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On frozen mountaintops high above,
Where darkness lingers but moonlight glows,
Lies the quiet of liberated souls.

Past the mountains’ permafrost,
In the valleys deep below,
Tarry the spirits of our lost selves.

Within the forest’s surreal gloom,
Where withered sorrows lead minds astray,
Reside the remnants of who we are.

In rocky tunnels dug from earth,
Where eyes can’t tell night from day,
Echo the whispers of what we lost.

Deep in waters clear and blue,
Stained from life of creatures unknown,
Evanescent dreams wait for us.

In barren wastelands deprived from rain,
Which no one being can call home,
The tintinnabulation of our greater selves is heard.

And if one listens long enough,
To rustling leaves and rolling waves,
One can hear human innocence.

The greater good is not as great,
As nature pulling ghosts from graves;
The ghosts of ourselves, dead as we live.

Can we be freed from material chains?
What shackles hold us in this place,
Where our spirits slowly wilt?

Bound to violence and power-lust,
Who can save the human race,
When it refuses to be saved?