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I set out on the path unmarked

By a deep desire bound

Longing for what wasn’t lost

But maybe never found

Once greeted into this world amiss

Deranged without a choice

Bereavement in lieu of bliss

pestilence, but no rejoice

Over mountains brimmed with cold

By rivers stirred of gale

Under wretched sun I trod

Strode before the crescent pale

Sought the one to end it all

The dweller of the mythic slough

The tailor of felicity, not mar

To impart grace to this etched heart

A myriad of stars grin above the sky

Earthen grove alight, beckons a lonesome cry

What goes now of the troubled one?

What must do this weary son?

Stillness in reply, only the nightjar shrieks in pry

At last I met him in the chthonic spire

A voidness of thought and shade

Knelt and begged the ancient one

‘I know mortal of what you fathom

Yet what I can offer you is none

For mere slumber’s what I fashion

Now creep away and greet your days

You’ll find zest in what remains

Harrowed by a voyage ended, it is time to rest a while

Dusk befalls and comes the journey last

What goes now of the troubled one?

What must do this weary son?

Stillness in reply, only the nightjar shrieks in pry