It’s too late, death has its teeth sunk deep into me. I did not choose madness, but in true cliché fashion, it chose me — some unknown mountain dweller from a long-ago abandoned place no one cares about.
Such is Nature, such is the way, the circumstances of certain individuals. Afflicted by unseen ailments. I, like many, have exhausted all of my strength. There’s nothing left at my relatively young age. Funny, though, I feel old and these poems, if one can call them so, are filled with nostalgia.
And so, I pray like the 13 before me:
Lo, there do I see my Father.
Lo, there do I see my mother,
and my sisters, and my brothers.
Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning!
Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them. In the halls of Valhalla! Where the brave may live forever!