They picked the pillars of his trade and piled
The pens, parchment, and silver free
On the shattered body, set sail at sea,
Confronting the continents outside
As a castaway, a forsaken child
Made to wander wide by wind and tide
And carry the cries of wailing brides.
But the mind-map made must never end
And the child grown must start anew;
His son, now man, must nurture what he grew,
Protecting the living in a land of the dead,
Becoming father himself and to his children tend
With the one he loves, balm to the bed
Of the world-weary man she wed.
Favored in fortune, war, and fame,
His friends and kinsman flocked to his side
Until he grew a mighty alliance to be his guide
And built a building tall to house it all,
A wonder in the world’s cutthroat game,
A place to give the gifts that fill the halls
With blood red wine like scribbles on a wall.
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