I sit.
Day becomes night.
I think,
And night becomes day.
Alone but for what scant company
One wizard and a phoenix can offer.
Composing my song to the firebird's tune
So that each new generation
May disregard my advice.
Cursed
To watch the passing of my maker
And the passing of each subsequent master
Like pieces on a chessboard
In some great, interminable game.
To wonder how it came to this
And wish for so much more.