Sing with me, O Muse
for I have no room within,
of the man with three names
sea-cradled, the tempest seeker,
the deserter, breaking the golden sun
across the black earth in despair,
running to the end of the earth
and across the waves, hiding his folly
and shame inside his changeful heart.
One name from blood
one name from glory
one name a jester-story
wrapped around a stone and turning
like the globe and all the waves
crashing down on the shore of Today
blinking seafoam from his eyes
uncertain which name is his
but knowing that the path ahead
may devour them all.
The Dawn always finds you
and its fell companion, Hope
is not far behind.
Sing with me, Muse
for I am so lonely,
sing of the shadowed forest
and the shining wings that fell there
like a comet, like a promise.
Sing of the path ahead, twisting
and turning like a serpent
through the forgotten trees of Night.