Searchers

All pilgrims have returned with spathe
Like cracks into their escritoire
Slunk low in their fear
Of what hath made such possible
All pilgrims have returned with fear
Like cracks into their faith
Drug into one conversation
Between the mirror prospects

And from these greener hinges
Yawn a bleeding verification
To the crawling encroachment
Never escape a fallen sterilization

All pilgrims have returned with tales
On tongues grown fat gone yet
Heard to corpses spoke their guilt
And gilt by graduation
All pilgrims have returned with tomes
On tongues grown fat with introit
Heard to corpses spoken that
Once overwhelms curiosity

And from these silent spheres
Spawn a cloud of oratory
Unguent for such sacrificial
Understanding to not make demands

All pilgrims have returned from where
Decried has numbed in stone
Mountainous surmount their homes
And return with unsurety
All pilgrims have returned from then
Decried has numbed their words in wind
Mountainous surprise each day
That looked alike until they face

And from these open arms
Hold a nothing no better
Just as it always came to be
Now see with absent clarity

All pilgrims have returned with fleurs
Sorrow in the joy of loss
Spilt to colours mix combined
As set of revolutive dreams
All pilgrims have returned with hope
Sorrow in the plane gone laid
Spilt to colours of the earth
Turned as verdant can relieve