I'm drawing near these shaded black gates.
Opening them, encountering a jaded path way.
The up top moon relieves my suspended vision.
The trail is provoking my calm minds simplistic division.
An answer being a quotient to a state of discontent.
Maintaining my mindset of being sentient.
Within this following I reach the base of a tomb.
A whistle of air teaches me I have been placed inside of a ghostly womb.
I study the stone noticing there is a script that has been written.
It's purpose is to assure it's readers of a hellish precision.
The wind blows harder I've become surrounded.
It appears the guardians have been summoned and sounded.
Watching from the trees as they are now grounded.
Despite my ensemble of fear, I am astounded.
Paralysis and emotional winter coat my body.
The ground has sank from supportive to dryly soggy.
The eyes gaze at me from the forest.
And my armor of courage is by far the poorest.
Racing amongst the leaves is emitted from the trees.
Chasing my soul's disease from what it fearfully sees.
Unlike most fiction I progress to my original basis.
Administering affliction from the sight of their faces.
Despite my terror I find myself feeling enthusiastic.
My confrontation has left the offense confused and spastic.
The crusade to my originality feels boundless.
Until I reach a different and the surroundings become soundless.
Attaining the entrance after an epic in momentum.
Pertaining a restriction in a zone system.
The time took removing the keys from my pocket enlarges.
Onward down the passage the opposition charges.
