Your blood no longer flows in my veins.
It has long since been dried up,
Been emptied from me,
Taken from my flesh and used,
Becoming ink and tears splattered upon
Blank canvas, and left there for years,
Seeping down into time's weave,
Crusting away until it cannot be removed.
It cannot be washed away.
But there is a difference in me now.
My drained flesh is now formed of earth,
My spirit clearer than fresh mountain air,
My will, a blazing, consuming fire,
And water is my new blood,
The dreaming tides that sweep the sleepers
Along the banks of the river's shore,
Past the weeping willows that reach out,
Tangling their arms together,
Waiting breathlessly for the end of time's beginning.
There I will dance amid the mountaintops,
Snow glistening beneath me,
My spirit flying high and free,
My will reflected in every campfire that burns
In the forests below.
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