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.