Gypsy of the desert,
You rode the arid winds
To the moisture of summer,
A harbinger of light and heat,
But your soul was possessed with death:
A caustic freeze.
Your utterances futile,
Your mysticism fragile,
Crushed by the slightest perturbation
In the illusory balance of your fabric;
Your magic waning,
You turned to alchemy,
Which only diminished your sorcery,
Despite your contrivances
To substitute your sacred power.
Wanderer from the desert,
You are not beholden to this realm;
You are a wraith,
Witchcraft and spirituality your gifts.
Before them titans fall
And Valkyries pay obeisance;
Beneath them the mysteries of the earth
Are bathed in revelation;
And in those eyes of crystal and daggers,
The questions orbiting the cosmos are answered.
If you would but ascend once more,
The universe would align again,
And to this world you would vanquish darkness.