Before a launching ramp.

The air was cool and damp.
Before a launching ramp.
I set up night-time camp.
Near the launching ramp.

My uncle was with me.
By the launching ramp was he.
The lake looks like the sea.
The ramp a fallen tree.

The voices came that night.
Ushered in by lack of light?
Defeated by their might.
Of hope I had lost sight.

They say surplus of love.
Of a Father's soft kid glove.
When push it came to shove.
Was the sin I'm guilty of.

If Phaestus knew by now,
The tests I passed and how.
Of each prayer to which I'd bow.
He'd speak to me somehow.

The other gods can't know.
What a debt of love I owe.
Sins forgiven long ago.
Too much gratitude to show.

Mayapple, the Prophet

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Miraman, in the year 414 AF.