The Confluence of Less Pervasive Radiance

That same ghost hymn
sung next to abandoned garden
that we tried to walk past.

You always looking down,
telling me that thorns from a crown
could be found in shaken dust.

And that slow hiss
of ouroboros halo shedding light,
as it choked itself.

But I was so sure...
that this path in linearity
was the way home.

Surmounting all sermons -
how I smiled with each step
past cauterized dawn.

Until tendrils of smoke
rose from the depths
where fallen angels sleep until judgement.

Now I know
it is only when you are lost
that you finally find the truth.