Toward Truth and Reconciliation

O, the biting pulse of my memories
 Gnawing the roots of my pain
 O, the icy tendrils of the past
 Striking my heart with a cold, whipping chill
 O, the mountains' moan,
 The cackling of the crows
 Singing the forest's refrain
 Winds whistling through
 My deep and wooded home
 But I am deaf to the sound
 The sound which has no name
 An Ode to the Feral Heart
 The wild one who roams
 Without shame or guilt or fear
 God and Man at once
 The king without a throne
 His spirit strikes you with wonder
 His words are thick with truth
 Like heavy drops of amber
 That cloak the oaken bark
 He is the one who came before
 In whom all powers lie
 Flowing from his fingertips
 Those warm and gentle streams
 The current running ceaselessly
 Through trees forever dark
 And when you see him standing tall
 He speaks her words into your heart:
 "I know the place
 Where memory sleeps
 And secrets hide
 It is not far
 Or hard to find
 Or too ancient to recall"
 Heaving my chest
 Gripping my throat
 Sleepless, senseless
 I cannot speak
 But the tears stream
 Warm, and heavy
 With the weight of
 What I must do
 O, my Brother, what have you done?
 What have you and I become?
 Can you count the links, one by one?
 Of the chain that you've begun
 Chains of hate for each man you've wronged
 Chains that hold forever strong
 They will follow you where you go
 As their weight forever grows
 Open the gates, O forest keeper
 To lost and ancient gardens
 To higher climes where few might stand
 To souls distant and dreaming
 In deep and wooded forests of my youth
 The sound of hunger rises
 The sound of a glinting blade
 The sound which has no name
 Reveal thy shape, O formless one
 Of aching, empty pain
 Of gods bereft of grace
 Of strength, and the lust for power
 Walk with me, O winged mother
 Through caverns old and yawning
 Through chains that drag us downward
 Toward truth and reconciliation