The city of Inkseeds rose from the desert,
Shining and decadent.
Somehow, it still stood.
I crossed through the gate,
The way worn by beggars and poets.
The only place a man can find satisfaction.
As the great ships of men crawled the waves to their destinies,
There were, after long years
A number of tales lost in the mists of morning.
Even after the forgetting though,
Wisps of story find ways to receptive ears
As even the deepest of secrets never truly dies.
When fires burn and the night grows soft in the void
To the heavens
And I cry to the north
For guidance of God
My sorrow, my pain is to infinity
The spiral of life
The fates of earth
I pray with silver lining my eyes