My heart, a stigma of hopelessness, gently lowered over the valleys of dawn. I drop to my knees at the roadside and plea to the silent earth with humble breath. I can gasp, but I can no longer question. I cannot comprehend these scrolls. These pages of history, wisdom of our fathers defiled. The words seem to dip and form lines with the craters of the moon. No parallel lines exist. I bled to death on the pyre, without an answer.