From beneath the pine
my face collides through limber branches
to meet the sun; O' skyline Patriarch
through your vistas I am cleansed of angst

I do not need you anylonger
the lucid dawn untangles the eyesore 
of my vile sentiments

But only when your days' duties
   meet your expected bounds
I become prisoner of the witching hour
   I plead you to rise and restore

My faith has been cast into my bowels