Torrid Waves and Virulent Masses

It is cold and lonely in my head.
There is not much light.

But through torrid waves and virulent masses,
I will see through this night.

On they come with such great gusto.
Pallid corpses left in their wake.

With lies and deceit to spin a golden thread,
So many faces do they take.

Flame does come and ebb and flow.
Its doctrine long and wordy.

So many bent and crooked beneath
The structure ever sturdy.

Yet through the dark, dusty, dank
There is no end in sight.

For one loan rider, magnificent, brilliant,
Will flex and flash with might.

Never before and never again
This conflict is eternal.

For when all is done, the dark has won,
There will be of hope a kernel.

It seeds and creeps and cuts and grows
Like acid on the skin.

To rear its head from graves long dead
With birth of a new sin.