I prize my wounds
and often sigh
as the high moon enwraps the shore
for even words are at a loss
upon the verge of war

cruel winter rises once again
and screams draw breath
upon this sundered throne of mine
still eager to devour more
will her voices pass with time?

carved are the charms into my blood
and even though I keep in mind
war's dismal recollection
no compass on this earth
shows my direction...