The One who dwells within the Shrine
a Temple made of it, Divine
comes knowing death, life’s truest rhyme
those hidden by a pantomime
And made of clear and purest light
and past illusion, far from blight
of form, or thoughts that in two, catches
remains in always, phoenix from ashes

-

This piece was started back in March, but I never had the extra push needed
to complete it up until now ;v;