My apologies for my poem coming across as a bit of a mess. You will have to forgive me for the shaky hands. My lengthy rest seems to have affected me a bit more than I originally thought!

Something stirs beneath my skin,
A quiet, thrumming ache,
Like distant thunder calling home
A sea too wild to break.

The air is thick with untold things,
With murmurs soft and low,
As if the dark itself might breathe
And shudder as it flows.

I move through fields of shadowed bloom,
Where stars are pale with grief,
And every whisper from the trees
Holds beauty, sharp and brief.

There is longing in the silent hills,
In every blade of grass,
A timeless pull that wraps around
The moments as they pass.

I do not know what keeps me here,
What bids me stay, and yet,
Each step I take toward distant light
Is heavy with regret.

For something waits beyond the dusk,
Something I cannot name
A quiet flame, a boundless void,
A spark too wild to tame.

And still, I walk, through breathless dark,
Through winds that brush like sin,
A tethered soul, forever drawn
To worlds I will never win.



Penned by my hand on the 24th of Phaestian, in the year 971 AF.