Thousands arrive , as they have, singing endless praises of skies so divine

But all for naught, a pale facade, even its azure hue just a illusionary thrall

Beneath it lies a soundless tomb of  dying celestials cries

Lips wither for they lie, but heart knows all

The glory of skies , false as moon's shine

The stars, the moon, the sun- all revered so beautifully, all so personified so unruly

Yet all damnations and promises of paradise prove to lie in far less time

Despondency and farces reign with terror, no glimmer for true beauty remains

Yet just before I could stumble deeper, in my incomplete delusions

One fleeting glance, your unspoken effervescence could afford

Right hung the infinite praise onto my lips, with undoubtable conclusions

"Let there be light"- 

Oh, my sweet Rynzalia, only you could have been the guide to even this Almighty God