Question

Bold sits the warming breeze in some stasis

I wish to be a part of them, I want all of me

Pondering across the crowded pew

Atop the shrine in all his bloodied glory

I wish to see, I wish to be

One with my sentience

Where shall the mortals scurry to...

When the opus will conclude? 

To another scared plan

Cold in a pity of winds carrying thought and sin

To a chapel hall and beside them the iron

Looking passed the shrouded view

Of colored glass saints and lords

I wish to capture the beams casting down on my life

I wish to see the knife carving in my mind

Craving some kind of charity

Crying for the clarity he knows he'll never find

Where shall my worries scurry to...

When all the verses come true?

To some other sacred man