I awoke from my bed sweating;
I could remember naught but a faint detail.
this vision, of utmost significance...
though the meaning I could not yet fathom.
I tilted the flask back
anticipating the coming of head pain,
for the haunting of dream often left me
hindered beyond all mobility.
My eyes had not yet adjusted to the sunlight
I grimaced at the beaming morn
piercing through cracked panes
until my finger happened upon a tired page,
dust of decadent neglect
flew like baby spiders
from upon a leather bound tomb
of lonely legacy.
Upon this page in a King's
sundried, encrimsoned blood
a name. DeCeasare
as it is written…
Scratched upon winding parchment,
where a diligent quill still dances
these last remaining pages;
words lost or unspoken...
even as my voice escapes
these thirsting lips;
on a pedestal tainted by fate,
I stand among men
with but a vision and a prayer.
I taste distant lavender on the wind,
it's curling tendrils echo my name;
through these dusted pages,
and it is clear…
I shall venture toward death,
barefoot upon coals of truth
that burn with vengeance and wonder;
there I shall find meaning,
life's fateful journey…