The Song

 The winds shall pass, the sea shall sing

The birds will feather, the ink will hide.

Yet the song must live on -

The one song that the songbirds sing

In lands separated by oceans of mistrust;

The one song that reminds of the cradle

Where men learned the ways -

Of life, of nature and art -

And smoked it all to ash and dust.

Thus lives the song, in his genetic ruins

Making him his own master, defying the Gods

Who once came to him, and whispered 

A tune that he was meant to miss.

So the man still strives to day

To master, to perfect the gift -

Forging friendships and death with passion,

Ignoring the bits that he would always do.

And thus the Gods live on

In the folly of Men, reminding them

What they could never hope to be.

The Man

 And what does a Man do?

When he becomes one with the change -

That he sought not to bring but facilitated?

Does history judge him kindly?

He wanders his ocean of wisdom

And is lost forever, like the sleeping City,

Without a living soul for companion 

But ghosts, buried in the wreckage of lore.

So wander he must, a long, cruel voyage.

Within his own head, living out his exile

As all spectators would do, long after he's gone

Those who chose to bear witness and inaction

In the name of Gods, so shall they live on

As timeless examples of what Man did to Man.

The City

 Hours before darkness strikes,

The city sleeps a peaceful sleep;

The wind is calm, the Moon is new

And the waves seem to be a distant chore.

Unaware, the city sleeps a peaceful sleep,

Days of fire are over, stars are finally here.

But just by the city gates waits a truth,

A figure of lore hidden inside man's interior.

The floodgates of blood will be opened,

Fire shall return, and take its due.

And the city - dreaming in its pride,

Gold, glory, wisdom and songs -

Will sleep forever more.