I have sinned and yet go free as a ship set sail Though it triggers a giggle in my little ego My fingers bleed and I am disturbed by distant wails Of the spirits of poets
In the beginning of time, I cared not of the past Neither the sun nor the moon had stories to tell And such was my task; to let knowledge flood the peaks I knew not a story; neither a lie
On the 26th day of the last month of oblivion The spirits of poets came forth unto me They spoke words that I could only write As I was lost in thoughts of codes and deciphering codes One injected into my skull a content of abstraction My thoughts were distracted with images of impatience And my vision returned illusions of past events and thirst for revenge My blood vessels boiled with hot red and black ink That set leaking out of my thumb and first finger And set a chain reaction of whirls of words and winds of words I spoke in a tongue I know and had long ignored I spoke the Written tongue; with words smeared on the walls of Wails
When I had recovered fully, I made that pledge And since then did I live to please the spirits By writing lines of poetry to reflect their feelings My thoughts are a mirage that never ceases to be And I knew that forever I had to pass the message of the poets The spirits of poets
Yesterday as I was preparing for my rest I for once more heard the wails and screams of disturbance I searched my thoughts and soon realized That I had committed a sin for which I ought to hang One of the screams now came clear to me
"Frank! Shall we not feel rejected for ever? If you, our choice, kills us too in cold blood? Does it not occur to you that this month we own? And yet you let the half of it without a gift for us!"