The candles burn sweetly low,
Not giving a hint of what they know.
Days rolling by and by with Hell,
Always experiencing what they tell.
The Angelire strides up the mount,
The moans of his father he does not count.
With a shielding grace with his father in his arms,
He will not have the Tempter's doubt.
Opening wider his viewing eyes with hope,
The two make it to the top, with winds they cope.
Staring patiently at the ocean above,
The spinning gate opens with dark details of love.
From the other side shines down spiritual rays of colorful light,
Touching and molding Maxwell's skin with a grip only so tight.
And Maxwell becomes a brilliant creature,
Who could only bear the name Symbolica.
Symbolica's eyes are burning flames of power,
His heart which strives to keep from turning sour.
Skin of a coconut and ears of a satellite,
Hair of a black sheep's wool and tongue of the Messenger's light.
The Angelire rejoices uncontrollably like a dancing dove,
As the wounds heal up because of his great love.
And the gate closes slowly as the two recede
Down the mount in seek of adventure.
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