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Burying his forlorn head beneath, murky clouds.
Night fades unto his blue irises'.
Legs dangle off the rigid stones.
Hands swaying, swiftly.

Stars blaze above branch's path.
Marshy landscape flourishes.
His hair buries his completion.

Soundless hours advance.
A hand holds, the blade's ridges,
Below his burly neck.

Nothing stirs, only blissful blood drips, from his neck.
Clouds disperse simultaneously to reveal the
Sacred sun, reflecting the dead body.

Wailing wounds, lie on his tender chest.
Soul's murmur resounds in dove's ears.
His exquisiteness is restored by sublime spirits.