Each corner of dust and dawn spoke of your name
A silent beating of whispered longing
Frenzied into a chorale of fear and shame
From small hands who had most of nothing,
To tired, and old fathers laden with blame

An agony, deafening, kept within unheard,
And still you broke the fold,
To weave a blanket, and lighten the hurt,
Singing a lullaby of perpetual cold,
Into arms that know of my worst.

Fed with mortal flaw, we saw you change as we do,
Almost as we are, taken,
Like a wish for a dream coming true,
As fleeting as snow fallen,
You wanted more yet our end was you.

Though Death is gone, you never left
And as we ran with books, our fury ebbs and turns away,
Standing, finally seen, a mirror of the self,
For you, the void, the end, remind us of day
Within the library of our souls, a brightly filled shelf.

In hearts who felt you be more than what you were born as,
Named or nameless, you are remembered,
To be despair and the end we've warned of,
Through you our resolve to live is tempered.

Thiesekh, my grief, my end,
May slumber take you to dreams of rebirth,
of love, of joy, and love again, and all over.

My grief you are not the end of our smiles tomorrow,
You are the start of love, of joy, and love again, all over.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Glacian, in the year 951 AF.