I exist in the threshold.
Waving back and forth like a swing on a peaceful night before a crescent moon.
Flashing forward and pulling my face back before the burns sink in.
The icy catacombs to the rear only chase the path closer to death.
I exist in the threshold
by choice.
The icy nightmares push me forward to flames of war
so I’ll stay in limbo.
The paradise, the cascade
will shortly follow.
Saint's Muse 