Than the form can take, true rest
A deal made by other witless ones
Riding storms sung in dead days
Where the ghosts clamour, beloved
Of wish-granters and lately less.
Solutions for the sorrowful range
Across worlds lacking wisdom far
Formed, the needful spirits stir
At signs where the blood leaks
Into water formerly clean, pristine,
Now dirty like these sentinels.
Cacophony and call, that sound whirs
Like nothing else, hunger rumbles,
The voices of lost memories soon
Remember what they were, once,
The drops so stark, so dark, bright
As the restless souls clamour on high.