I wrote the following as an exercise of sorts:
By Three Drops
The sorrow of death spins suffering into fabric,
The moon illuminates tombs of silent agony,
And legends of woe are made.
The isolation of walls tower casting shadows,
The gloom of loneliness grips in despair,
And the soul cries longing to commune.
The void of nothingness shrieks of the terror of oblivion,
The hands grasp clawing in desperation,
And fear whispers that nothing is there.
There is a path through the woods without a map,
There is no beginning and no goal,
But in the now illusion can be stripped from the eyes.
There is an elixir brewed in the heart,
Three drops of mystery, salvation each one,
But from the chalice it must be sipped.
The drop of rebirth the sun rises by,
The next of unity the crown is returned by,
And the last of eternity the heart dances by.
"Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path."