Through Fields of Peasant Graves

All roads lead north
Whether dirt, stone or asphalt
Some are hidden from sight
And lay buried beneath the earth

Some wind 'round trees
Others up mountain sides
Through fields of peasant graves
With stone crosses raised high
I stopped on such a road
The Moon shone overhead
I dug the soil by hand
And found a hidden path

In sleepless solitude I wandered
Beneath the roots and barren ground
Until my eyes were blinded by white
The inverted Sun was bright upon my skin

A grey Sun radiated
With a cold ring of cobalt
I touched the flame
And was absorbed into the light
I awoke upon the grass
Under a cross of stone
I laid there till the Sun died
And the earth was swallowed whole

All roads long forgotten
And all had turned to ash
Through fields of burning graves
With stone crosses crumbled
I stopped on such a road
With nothing overhead
I dug the ash by hand
And found a hidden path