Closing Verse

At endmost of days, my nothing awaits
No treasure or famehood from seerbound fates
A sorrid life wasted on gutsodden ground
Drowned in pyresmoke of tomorrows unfound
What of the city? What of the call?
Mine ears now ring clearly, unfettered by all
In greyhood those troubles are shed like a blossom
To fall into ground as my deeds go forgotten
Yet, more is unmade than my own petty story
Stellestian watchers care nothing for glory
The waters bescattered, the land torn to waste
Sky shriken past me with unearthly haste
Beyond flares of man glow the gleamers o’high
Lanterns as gods that see myth as a lie
I witness the folly of old battles fought
Only stars now, the City is naught