Where, friend, is your solstice now?
The point of no return long past;
are we still waiting winter out,
with not one longer day to last?
I feel dark air runs from old wounds,
from callus on the heels of wars.
My reason died with theirs alike;
cursed by time, and crossed by stars.
Don’t pray for one made in my kind,
but scatter all my legends dry.
For good’s sake, for what it’s worth
there’s still no meaning in this cry.
Go out then, seek the truth held dear,
but nevermore restrain my fate.
O shall I freeze my time and heart,
to wait out winter in bless’d hate.
