Weaver of Destiny

Blessed is he who was graced by heavens; To the child who bears a warming presence. May he fare well with braveness to the heart; As fate had spun his tales from the start. Young child of hate and love the same; How I wish to take the weight on your frame. The burden and fates of men on your feet; Their darkness and light, a song to your beat. Child whose name was left to the winds; Whose soul would be haunted by ghosts and the fiends?

I pity how you shall even grow and be bred. For you are the spawn of the living and dead. Dreams and wonders that stir in your head. The wisp of flames of love you are fed, It burned and warmed, yet starving you more. A poison of pity you'll bury to your core. Oh, child of time and timeless the same.

How long had it been for your flames to grow tame? The life you just gave that slipped from your hands. The death of the ones who once lived in your lands. The murmurs, the tears, the aches in your heart. Wishes of death that delusions a warp. Reality you hated as a slap to your face. The trickling of time was never yours to race. Broken, beaten, bleeding yet still. Breathing and living and fighting with will. Vengeance so fiery that burned through your veins. Tears of apologies as you pull back your reins. Pity, a pity, a child of so much sadness.

Your tears were the blood of your little madness. Duty, that duty, which made you lose all. The pain of watching your loved ones in their fall. How hated and loathed must I seem to you, As I spin the tales of millions, you slew. I cried and shouted for this bloodshed to stop. Yet these fingers are cursed to weave more till I drop. Yet here I am, still who weaves down your treads.

Building your garb with trickles of red. And while some may be patterned with silver and golds. My child, they are doomed with lives so dark and untold. Watching your falls, and your breaks, and your turns. Hearing your laughter, your tears, and your scorns. Losing your own fate in their seas of despair, Oh, child I'm so sorry, a mere prayer I can share.

For blessed are you who was graced by the sky, No matter how torn and tattered, with wishes to die. Seeing your burdens I wish for your peace, And shall pray for the next champion to fill in your piece.

Clarence Cordero