How can one who has seen your soul find your presence so profane?
How can one who has breathed deeply of your secrets show so much disdain?
While that may seem to be folly, you wreath it with garland and holly. Praising it as an Olympiad would be, favoring those who look but do not truly see.
But who am I?
Do I stand for any virtue? My very presence seems both welcomed and abhorred. Your indecisive nature I’ve far too long endured. The time of my yielding has come and gone. Through the shadows of dread I greet a new dawn.