His clothes,
white as snow
on mountaintops.
The highest summit,
I could not reach.
Speak to no one of
what you've seen.
Trapped by the generation
of wayward thinking.
From above comes a voice of reason,
"I have chosen you."
Found all alone, covered in fog.
A sullen spirit descends
into the multitudes
despite his disposition.
It's my voice you hear,
begging your help.
I cry out,
"How do I contend with
the plagues of my mind?"
"Overcome."
He says.
