Burned into the tattered tapestry of the foreboding sky, Are faded traces of forgotten sunlight; As the fragments of ashes rain, Scattered over the vast distance That separates contentment from isolation. Futility is absolute, and alone and misguided are those Who would tread this mire; so cold and deep. Lost are all who traverse these ominously twisting paths, For hope is only a mockery of its own illusion.