Tell me this, master of eloquence, whose words
do not as mine tumble forth in seeming nonsense,
do you stop and read the stories you repeat? 

And if so, do you ever, most humble servant
of the Most High God, wonder when or where
or why you whittled out such a small role, tucked

Your tail and ran, then hid, from the whole wonder
of who you are, hiding somewhere in the web of obsurity,
entangled by the very beasts you remember not?

Enslaved to the system you once lost yourself in, now
run amuck, your life is run aground as the other ship
and still, as before, I wait the good news of your return. 

The work we were to do together, two streams running
from a single source, awaits us still, here at the end of time.
All is converging and we hold a single key. Let us 

Work together and unleash full all the love and truth
we've held through time, whether somewhere bound in chains
or terrified to touch remembrance. I will prepare a table.