The worshiper’s journey

 
Entangled he was within his own madness
raveled inside his unease of mind
seeking fruit off of all the dead branches
none of the trees were so very kind

He dwelt wherever light was absent
loathing all that speaks of sunshine
a life with no regards for advancement
slowly declining but pretending he’s fine

A spark is cast betwixt all the faces
ever since, his eyes are rejecting to move
A cynosure, wherever she goes he traces
swiftly he was within the goddess’ grove

Thereafter he was, enamored with her
at last all the trees are fruitful and kind
thereafter, all darkness from him deters
for I’m hers, and the goddess is mine