Nexus Biographies


.: Lost Requiem :.

A story of forsaken fate

Riding past the Mudum's gate, hooves clattered,

The pale grass whistled and moaned beneath Bearing the weight of the ancestors' blood splattered,

Thus I was brought through bleak plains and heath.

Crossing the Silver Thread I saw each red dawn

To come here, I toiled ten thousand leagues;

The sunset whispered to me with the night's yawn,

"What use is fame, that is brought with intrigues?"

A frozen dagger of wind sliced my cheek

The moon shone iridescent like a ram's fleece

As my last tears wet my horse's mane, to seek

Refuge in the sands, secluded to decease.

Above the weathered statues of history, swayed trees

Encrusted with the unrelenting memories, which drowned

Once-fragrant blossoms that waft in the breeze...

I came, and the white carpet hissed upon the ground.

The night's bright lights above my head

Cast their rays through milk-white strands,

That flowed like the spider's silken thread

Winding around my hands.

Ice clenched my unseen enemy's cuirass,

My freezing staff too weak to glow;

Snow-packed clouds loom stark and drear to pass;

The rotten brine chokes the p'iri's woe.

In broken ripples of the soul filled spring,

I sought the fire dancing near,

That beckoning drumbeats did bring,

As I chose to tarry here.

Then with crimson eyes I saw,

A shadow of a figure bathed in red,

I struggled but could not withdraw,

With tears that I never shed.

I heard the path of least resistance,

As solitary spirits whispered confessions

But I walked the line of complete persistence,

To banish despair over transgressions

The venom of my fingers creeps,

To this pool of dreams once lost,

Into its dark depths it seeps,

Fading away in exhaust.

Soon all that is left are forgotten legends and night,

While this forsaken realm will ever my kingdom be;

Only one weary raven will hasten north in flight,

And with the passing waves my remains shall flee.

When I part, I will whisper what I can and more,

To cheer you on your lonely road to death's shore...

Old is the one whose whisper the wind catches,

Releasing the soul's burden, and no blame attaches....

My spirit it was who brought and forsook me,

Not for another but my Fate's decree.


-Spirit Artist-