I have lost my vigor
bloody knuckles, a charm no more.
In the very fabric of my being,
a dark wind chills my bones.
"What are your fists for?"
"A fight once was, but a pen now charms,
tekura, kaido, telepathy all weak,
a luster no more, no more,
no more."

"What is your heart for?"
"What beats slowly, or not once.
In thy splender, a death draws near."
"What are your lips for?"
"A whisper, a cadence, my final breath,
once a battle cry, now a scholar's sigh."
"What are your loyalties for?"
"My love for them will never leave,
my path I walk will never waver,
but my fists cannot strike,
my legs cannot bend."

"Are you lost?"
"Am I certain?"
"Are you scared?"
"Aren't I always?"
"Are you free?"
"Is anyone ever?"
"Are you dead?"
"Was I living?"
"Can you breathe?"
"I can't speak."
"Is this the end...?"

"No...I must continue..."


Penned by my hand on the 17th of Miraman, in the year 580 AF.