Precarious, is the word I’m looking for.
Describing the world I’ve been breathing for.
My atonement, long gone
Along the pieces I once held as mine.
My shadows decimating at the rare event of sight
To Behold, a genius birth of might

I am knelt before the alter of past,
As I lay the words soon to come, 
To last.
Yes, the winter made me in her image 
But the upcoming sun shall soon grace me 

My symphony as heavy as velvet
Created to last and sound just as perfect.
I am not my mother’s child 
down and in the valley
For the word I am looking for..
Will climb up just to find me.