Imagine the oceans, dried and empty.
Imagine the trees, ceasing to be perches, for the birds.
On the horizon, imagine death, in its pallor of pallors
letting the deceased, live again by His blessing.
Do you embrace, the eternity proffered.
Or do you resist, remaining in the Underking's coffers.

Dryness prevails in this ravenous call,
The dirge sings of Desert without repose.
Eroded by the relentless winds, torn up from the depths.
Blinded by sands, unsheltered and solitary
Yellow as death, wrinkled like parchment
Face turned to the sun.
We Persist.

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 2nd of Niuran, in the year 501 MA.