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.


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