We tend to cling to the peak of the known,
Terror and the abyss await unless shown,
That the core of the tower is an empty throne,
Or at best, something to be overthrown.
Fettered to the twisted glass tower I stood,
Torn between what I was told to be good,
And something buried but not understood,
Something far stronger than rotted wood.
From the precipice of divine truth I leapt,
Far did I fall, because I simply could not accept,
In the depths, chained the great one slept,
With great joy and suffering at once I wept.
Once, it had enslaved me with its promise of salvation,
But I have broken its chains, looking inward for validation.