Boredom compounded with work leads to what follows. Those who've had the lack in life to read the Malazan Book of the Fallen atleast till the 3rd book (there are 10 in all) shall know better the context of my paltry poesy. Those who haven't, well whats there. Cheers.

Of being done (Brukhalian's Prayer)

In the raging glory earned with blood and tears

find my death, a final prayer

to all who watch and reap, but never sow,

for all who live and die beneath their blows;

that all the power, anger and pain

sheltered within these fragile frames

that follow my shadow to the betrayal imminent

live on past us and never faint

for the crime of our deaths, uncommitted yet,

shall weild a vengeance moulded in hate.

Let us march to our deaths then, old friends and new.

Let the crime be complete, and a hero rise anew.

A hero with no song, no place beneath the sun,

but just a man, not dead, for he’s not yet done.