Westward bound, 

I’ve seen the light of day. 

The paintings on the walls of inner caves only appear where the light can’t reach. 

O’, what a blessing that my shadow follows me. 



I choose. 



I choose where the light gets in; 

an image mirroring my very being upon the canvas 

that is the earth we tread, 

that is the soil on which we step.
 



And would you think me to be wrong as I speak to you? 

It’s been too long since I have seen your face.
 

Would you think me to be wrong as I speak these truths to you? 



Then stay your tongue, lest I cut it where you stand, 

O’, vile and sordid lech,
 

your tongue so laced with barbs and filth that it could blight the very earth 

and sicken us all beyond repair. 




O’, Lecherous One! 

Stay your tongue lest I cut it where you stand. 


Don’t think for a second that you’d be spared! 



And would you think me to be wrong as I speak to you?
 

And would you think me to be wrong as I speak these truths to you?
 

O’, how they’ve long laid dormant, 

so hidden, occult, and buried neath your cinders.
 



“And this won’t be the last of it. 

Heed my words, 

O’, Pilgrim. 

This won’t be the last of it.” 



Silence,
 

O’, Lecherous and Vile One! 


I condemn you to a never-ending quiet. 





Silence, 

O’, Unholy and Perverse One!
 

I condemn thee to ageless damnation.

 



O’, be silent,
 

De-sanctifier, Pillager! 


I condemn thee to speak no more.

 



Quiet, 


O’, Unenviable, Cursed one! 


I must travel westward bound.