Ills weigh at the mind. I wear the willow
Of old times hanging heavy in my hands.
I fell and I fell with forgotten wings
Now I fly, not yet destined for the land.
Yet you bled out your eyes, then bruised your breath
To call me back from the edge of your ache
Did you tell her it wasn't so beautiful?
Inside creations you've since wished unmade.
How hard does it hurt? Is it heavy red?
I wait still. For you. On the further side
In my veil of continuous sorrow,
And swathes of night to encompass the lie.
No more words. Let's continue conversation
In the Dark Earth, pale bloom, the broken grass,
And that lonely night bird that sweetly sings
Of the dried blood I'm silently grieving.


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Lanosian, in the year 177 MA.