Must all stories settle and songs beget repose?
A prayer for blessed relief, gone unsaid and unsung,
Drowns oceans with horrors, a r an uneasy wind blows
To build potency and portent for knells thrice unrung.
Malaise grows fat on undyed swathes and unbound threads
As its minions turn feckless and numb in a cosmos unannulled.
What purpose have angels in a ward bereft of deathbeds?
Sunlight warms snowbanks and breaks bread with ambition channelled
Solely to shatter that which flows unimpeded towards glory.
I despair what to proffer as succor and relief
To those craving meaning from heavens dead and hoary
Yet erstwhile shoulders turn from orchards fecund with belief.
To lament what we offer bespeaks undying woe, but to hark
The Heralds is to seeketh the path; rejoice, and let fire return to hearth.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Valnuary, in the year 992 AF.