O to shield oneself with the visage of the sunset;
To shroud away from the rake of nail and bruise of touch
To leave the throng of desire,
To remove oneself from the offering.

Embrace a future condemned by the mass
Of blissful solitude and inner truce.
To stray the roads less trod
Oft travelled with that surly extra set.

No new route comes without trial,
One paved with doubt and question.
Doubt is best left aside,
For it comes from across the diverge.