On the point, the pinnacle, he stands,
he bleeds.
Above the sea,
Beneath the sea,
The birds cry to him.
They alight upon his arms, his face.

On the point, the pinnacle, he stands,
he bleeds.
Beneath the sky,
Above the sky,
The rain calls to him.
It surges upon his arms, his face.

On the point, the pinnacle, he stands,
he bleeds.
Above emotion,
Beneath thought,
A soul pleads to him.
It crawls upon his arms, his face.

And he stands still.




The Seventh Circle Website