Drink the pain that makes me whole,
deep in shattered bone and blackened soul.
I wander weary, restless, knowing,
this is but the harvest before the sowing.
I know my fate,
the peace too late,
the cold wind blows, sharp and clean,
as I breathe out ghosts,
and think to dream;
of hope and fear, of journeys halted,
of writhing seas and salted beaches.
I am a watcher, fated, hated.
The one who sees whats yet awaited.
I am alone.
Alone am I.
My tale is done
As once more the sun does tally beneath the dawn,
I pass once more into the dark,
once more to rise with setting sun.