The flotsam of a far broken melody arrived
Washed to ear-shores by the wind’s waters,
Broken sweet notes and longings battered 
Limping for refuge through heartless spaces.

A hundred wraiths of memory faintly arose,
Each a mist but weighing like world-pain
Repeating like a litany the unkept vows,
Each a stake to the heart already slain.

The skies are empty, not even the eagle-eye
My aerial kin watches from the silent height,
Each eye of the many flames watch silently
A hubris sneer with slow contempt.

Such the wounds that become my ornament,
Does this suffice for Thee to redeem me yet?