A shadow lingered on the shattered walls,
swaying in the light of the crescent.
He claimed to having answered destiny's calls,
so he gave life to places long quiescent.
But gods had been merciless to his young age;
throughout the traveller's endless route
they had made apparent their growing rage;
hidden dangers appeared from the bruit.
He held onto sanity's smallest grain
fingers slipping through invisible ropes.
Broken symbols are all that remain
after the illusion of cruely stolen hopes.
His conscious is now much too frail,
and his words are now much too sinuous.
His impregnable diligence to no avail,
and his frenzied monologue continues.