Description
Cyate and Arnamina say their goodbyes as he heads off in his ship.
Appears to be strength, appears powerful.
But his eyes are despair, soul mournful.
He wanders through dark, as he does not come out in day.
I am holding a moon up to light his way.
He boasts and he jeers, thrashes and cuts.
He repels me but draws me near.
Rejecting the light that is shone on him.
He believes he's a column made of stone.
Cracks form with but a single touch, crumbles to the ground.
A revelation.
- poem by A.L Stanford