Jesus told me a seed
of need nocturne breeds.
Telling me now is a voice
not heard but my esteem.

My cold is known by old
stories that once told
broke into the vast void
my footsteps became bold.

Reach I beseech as I sleep
and the stories we tell
ourselves we always keep
in our realm of our hell.

Cold is hell in a spell
I’ve cast unto hills spills
does the water to foam
as it roams fast down hills.

Peace I keep as I walk
along alone I roam to atone
nature spells freedom son
so for my nature I like alone.

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