birtH

I will make of these weary bones, 

creaking and fragile to the touch,

sweet melodies from beyond Valhalla.


Music of life shall i make from the embers of Death;

conjuring sweet poetry from these ashes

to sate you.

From these cinders,

will your soul will get its fill.

Yes, 

within these embers,

 ambrosia shall burst forth.

(A.k17)