While hurling torches to hold off the dark,
Keep a few embers to burn mold off of bark.
Let the leaves breathe free from sorrow's musk,
Let the weaves wreathe me before tomorrow's dusk.

Foolish youths and the Lord of Loss,
Fully approve of the claims we stake.
The covering of paths harms shaded moss,
Covered fields beget the rake.

A tragic tale of stick before carrot.
A sorrow sharing a birthright with You.
A weight so ignored only sleepers can bear it.
A hate birthed of the blight within you.

A grift from the night, lame hands who'd buy your luck.
Behold the rot-thought. Is deceit as clever as you've got?
No wonder you feel so stuck.
Is life truly to be a waste? What do you desire most?

Be swift and light. Aim and shoot then duck!
Spit, snot or clot. Behold the severed knot.
Pooled blood makes the same muck.
Ancestry: A lingering taste of the faith of a ghost.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Mayan, in the year 906 AF.