Thought I'd never write again, find my voice again, but here it is in glory:
The real world pines for nothing more than a constant feed of mourning.
It leeches when you least want it to, embraces you with a pain worse than death.
Where is it then, a solitude and solace that none can seem to find in this day and age?
Can it ever be found in a book, song, words otherwise said or even by a wise mage?
Nay, ne'er to be seen by any of these unless one looked upward to the skies,
for someone, perhaps could hear the thoughts of millions, both truth and lies.
I know you hear me in my weaknesses and hold me more dearly than a father ought to,
because your heart has always remained faithful even when I know I haven't been true.
Thanks are never enough, but you accept them in any and all forms that I may speak,
You held me then and even now, in this hour, when I feel used and most weak.
You are adored by your creation, loved endlessly for you see me for what I am,
I am your altar for worship, your tender and frail (yet perfect) child, your lamb.