A broken cabin,
with doors of windows.
A decaying ground,
with grass made of sand.
A shattered sword,
with a blade of leather,
the burning sun,
with the color of the moon.

A cracked vial,
with the softness of wool,
a forsaken backpack,
with the hardness of bricks.
A lost journal,
with pages turned to dust,
a discarded sigil,
with no door to keep shut.

Rose petals that look like daisies,
myrrh in the shape of kola,
a xoran with the face of a mhun,
a mhun with the face of a human.
A heart deep in fragile earth,
beating blood into its veins,
the sky dark,
the world misted.

A monk with no eyes to see,
a chef with no hands to cook,
an atavian with no wings to fly,
a grook with no mouth to breathe.
A baby with no legs to crawl,
a mother with no arms to hold,
a lover with no mouth to kiss,
a mind with no body to use.

An herb with no affliction to heal,
a salve with no bones to mend,
a staff with no magi to wield it,
shoes with no water to walk.
Lady sol, frozen in time,
cascading downward,
as the sky cries tears,
of frozen blood.

I'm Home.



Penned by my hand on the 14th of Aeguary, in the year 602 AF.