There once was a time, under Saturn's reign, mountain tops and frozen ice, mammoth bones, and raging fires, look into the fire above the well below, this garden, the womb of my people, from this hive millennia of action and reaction, the wheel turns, and it goes, and it goes, yet it always returns, treading different land yet that Saturnian spike returned to its rightful throne, under the protection of the Sky Father, the paradise within nothingness, that microcosm of creation, surrounded all around by certain death, yet death that must be traversed if one truly wants to flourish and grow, to hunt for mammoths, the great microcosm of truth.
Oh little oasis in this frozen hell, do you remember me? When I look upon your peaks, I see within mine eye the peaks I have been searching for, in your jagged peaks the sigil which I have been looking for so long is found, will you remember me? The peaks form a key, finally I see. Will you allow me to drink from your well once more?
Now that you have returned what is to become? We cannot know, we cannot know, who could have predicted this chain of causality, who we once were, and thus now who we have become. The ancient is the contemporary and a new age does not draw near, no, it has arrived. Will you remember me? Will you remember my love? Will you remember my goodness? Will you remember my tears? Will you remember my anger, my grief, my trauma? Will you remember how we frolicked, in those ancient days blurred by Saturnalian hue.
Do you see me through the smoke of my incense, can you see me through the smoke of your glacial bonfire? As I huddle up for warmth do you as well? Are you here with me now? Has it always been so? What has once been will thus become again. It goes, and it goes, and it goes, and it goes. Oh the songs we used to sing, oh the joy we once shared, under that eternal blue sky. How we sang, how we danced, how we drank with merry mirth and fancy.
How things were easier yet behind it all a force of unknown magnitude, sitting, watching, staring, is it staring at me now? Does it rest its gaze upon me? Art thou from the waters, or dost thou come from beyonder? Oh this Garden, this cycle of ease. I shall see to the return of thy Saturnian breeze, till next we meet.
-Yours truly