I am waiting for you at the roots of a black mountain
At the axis of eternity where no falling stones may strike us.
I am waiting to hear of your tales in that voice:
Read me the letters sent by desperate princes from far places
Tell me where you wiped daemonic blood from you sword
And say if you found love so I can know if it is real.
Regail with battles won and lament the times you were routed
Tell of the spells you have seen cast from wizened claws
The beasts whose breath has panted on your neck
The artefacts which pulsed with power in cavernous shrines
The thousand-temple processions and the songs they sung.
Expound wild theories of the cosmos, or just speak in axioms
Say what we should do, counsel where humanity should go
Deplore idealism as you do, balance the scales as you can
Remind me of why I am alive, why we are alive.
I am waiting as I have been long waiting, and I will wait more
Yet I have done nothing, nothing but waiting and waiting.
I have created nothing with these fingers but brittle shapes
Sired no children in these lands and planted no great trees
I have just watched the hands of a clock pass, hidden from myself,
Seen decay turn to death, lost all purpose in a moment
Given up and given up and given up until my hands became empty
Of all but callouses and scars.
For as long as I remember things felt as if they were slipping away,
At best and at worst things were unreal, illusive deception.
So know this, whilst I waited long, I know nothing, fathom nothing,
I have nothing to say, I can only hear.
I have achieved nothing and built nothing
Raised nothing and mustered nothing
As ephemeral as a pass of the sun or a moment of inspiration
But inspired no one!
You will have nothing to learn, except perhaps how a life can flash by
How a phoenix can fall back into the embers
Or a sycamore seed can miss the soil.
I am waiting here, in the node of oblivion, at dark gates
And I will wait til you come here to spar with me again
Lips crooked, swords drawn.