The Spirit Of The Tall Hills

Standing upon the portal where my eyes have become weary
The cold winds from the south bring ghastly fragments of
The forgotten land, where, once the spirits stood along
The desolate shore to disappear into the silenced murk
"Some by seven gated Thebes in the land of Kadmos There
For these, the end of death was misted about them"
As my eyes slowly descend the dust transcends into my frail structure
The wind, the cold wind breaks my complete silence
The portal for which I stand upon collapses
No fear I shall feel, transcendence into the peripheral
And there they have their dwelling place and hearts free of sorrow
In the islands of the blessed
By the deep swirling stream of the ocean
The hypnotized sound of Boetian harps, created by the force of spirits
The faraway lands no longer seem so distant
Nirvanaesque serenity as the hills become unclouded
The spirits embrace my soul
As I envision the neutral spectrum before me
The harp echoes and echoes and... my wings take me to the bewilderment