Something more daunting, something more clear
Like a lacquered surface, a deceptive veneer,
Your regret is a burden, your life is a task,
Your wrath is a poison, to which your mind is a flask,
There is something more solemn, acrid like lime,
There is something more covert, than the presence of time,
Outside, an abrasive rock, steadfast and dead,
Crack to find crystal, with a spectrum of dread.