When did it cease?

The fighting and studying and lack of sleep,

Coupled with my weariness to create, 

A semblance of Lassitude so perfect,

I nearly forgot my name?

Yet the Child brings me comfort,

His delight in the wind,

And the songs that he sings,

Ones that draw me in...

How could he be different?

Has he not always been this way?

No... 

Once he was different,

His memory not long,

Forgetful and content,

He never sang a single song.

Now he is finished, 

My silver-lit moon,

And I am his uncle,

His favorite old loon,

Yet still she stalks him,

Won't deny her interest,

Hunts for my nephew,

Such a devilish wild,

And he wanders, 

Never stable, 

Always searching:

For the beauty in the plain,

For the wonder in the dull,

And the shine in the tarnished,

And broken pieces.

I wish I could see,

With his eyes view the world,

With his skin feel the breeze,

keep him save from her harm.

And so here I stand, 

Spouting off prose,

Whilst a demon infection,

After his soul goes.

___________________________________________________

(A/N) Another one! Say hi to Em'paath!

Good luck ever getting him to do this kind of thing again. :)

Till next time!

Your Poet,

~ShadeFinder<(0^0)>