My Hands Were Made to Hold the Wind

This soul is amorphous
Glowing through nature in strange patterns
Desperate follower, I wandered untraceably far from home
Lured by its trail –
flashes of gold
Lured to the mountain & lulled to sleep
This was the one day no child should have slept
The caravan had come
To take those marked at birth for sacrifice in the River of Muninn
I was among the marked –
the ring of youth –
appointed to be drowned at dawn –
on the chosen day –
but I slept through the conjuring –
slept through the drums & horns –
I would have been a guardian –
Watching the grace of wisdom –
blossom through the ages –
instead I watched the stones & torches – of the village banish me –
Self disintegrated
– Passion untarnished –
There must be another way –
The entity I was chasing –
The vicar of my failure –
expands upon my grief a notion –
glory in the wake of abandonment –
the river is still mine to take –
the soul is still mine to guard –
immortal passion in fast aging skin –
my hands were made to hold the wind