Changes

I look outside to morning sun;
Thinking on just what I've done;
My silent vigil ends it's turn,
For what's incurred to let me burn.

To what you say I owe this day?
Looking at my own dismay.
Found the will to stand up strong;
The blade that cleaves who don't belong.

A price it has extracted now;
To seal a newfound solemn vow;
Working at this newfound fate,
Forgive me not it's far too late.


Penned by my hand on the 15th of Mayan, in the year 989 AF.