Whose Spirit Lent A Fire

Crackled, burning, alive, I rend my clothes

And tether to the anchor my last link with what I’ve sown

So now I’m free, and pure, and good

More like nickel, not as shiny, less a piece of dying wood

In my chest hides a vessel, buried deep beneath the waves

Way beyond the surface, always hungry, always craves

In truth, an idle hunter, my heart preys upon the feast

In a dying world I linger, subtly waiting for the Beast

And when at last I see him, I’ll let fly my arrow free

And pierce the broken spirit that resides dark inside of me

Underneath the winter moon I howl for my release

Waiting for an eastern wind to guide and bring me to my ease

With a knowledge that couldn’t linger, and a dagger sheathed and dull, I hailed the seven winds and cried mercy for a fool

Across an unwitting universe, the spectre of my innocence longed for your embrace

Before I even knew the soulic visage of your face

I pined with all my heart at the thought of what I’d lose: a love, so cut from ice, to live or die, I couldn’t choose

I begged you for my pardon, for the gift of your abuse

But it wasn’t yours to give, only time, for me to lose

I lay helpless, like driftwood, upon the open sea

My mind had lost its timbre somewhere deep inside of me