Toward Truth and Reconciliation -

O, the biting pulse of my memories

Gnawing the roots of my pain

O, the icy tendrils of the past

Striking my heart with a cold, whipping chill

O, the mountains' moan

The cackling of the crows

Singing the forest’s refrain

Winds whistling through

My deep and wooded home

But I am deaf to the sound

The sound which has no name

An Ode to the Feral Heart

The wild one who roams

Without shame or guilt or fear

God and Man at once

The king without a throne

His spirit strikes you with wonder

His words are thick with truth

Like heavy drops of amber

That cloak the oaken bark

He is the one who came before

In whom all powers lie

Flowing from his fingertips

Those warm and gentle streams

The current running ceaselessly

Through trees forever dark

And when you see him standing tall

He speaks her words into your heart:

«I know the place

Where memory sleeps

And secrets hide

It is not far

Or hard to find

Or too ancient to recall»

Heaving my chest

Gripping my throat

Sleepless, senseless

I cannot speak

But the tears stream

Warm, and heavy

With the weight of

What I must do

O, my Brother, what have you done?

What have you and I become?

Can you count the links, one by one?

Of the chain that you’ve begun

Chains of hate for each man you’ve wronged

Chains that hold forever strong

They will follow you where you go

As their weight forever grows

Open the gates, O forest keeper

To lost and ancient gardens

To higher climes where few might stand

To souls distant and dreaming

In deep and wooded forests of my youth

The sound of hunger rises

The sound of a glinting blade

The sound which has no name

Reveal thy shape, O formless one

Of aching, empty pain

Of gods bereft of grace

Of strength, and the lust for power

Walk with me, O winged mother

Through caverns old and yawning

Through chains that drag us downward

Toward truth and reconciliation