I found myself within a forest dark.

Deed done is well begun.

And as he, who with laboring breath has escaped from the deep to the shore, turns to the perilous waters and gazes.

He who awaits the call, but sees the need, Already sets his spirit to refuse it.

The truth thy speech doth show, within my heart reproves the swelling pride.

O you proud Christians, wretched souls and small,/ Who by the dim lights of your twisted minds/ Believe you prosper even as you fall,/ Can you not see that we are worms, each one/ Born to become the angelic butterfly/ That flies defenseless to the Judgement Throne?

Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.