Epistle to a Loyal Friend

On these yonder frozen fields,
In the gaze of thy moonlight,
I spy thy heart’s inner ills,
the world a brush of starlight.

We come down to the river
deep in its waters we go
the cold instills a shiver
And I melt into the flow.

Tell me why we ride so far
down this mountain peak so high
to soar above ardent stars
Yet we always go awry.

Hope bleeds feeble melodies –
Despair blinds us to our proof
there’s no static destiny –
we must search for our own truth.