Do not speak to me of
Running,
or
Blood,

When you won't meet my eyes as you kill me,
When you strike from afar with an unseen grip.

My body can be remade anew,
Enrobed in earthen majesty, reformed.
I welcome it.
I will die again and again, joyful in my constancy.

My resolve is tempered by
Pain
and
Suffering.

Enjoy your fleeting victory,
But know this: you have not gazed on amethyst fire
Glittering in endless challenge.

Time is my comrade.


Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 18th of Celes, in the year 6 AC.