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