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In the early morning sun I travel eastward,

My shadow follows every step

And I fear nothing,

The comfort of its presence,

Like the warmth of the sun's rays upon my skin,

It makes no sound except for the echo of my smiles

Seen only in its darkened gloom,

And as the minutes of the daytime draw to dusk 

It begins to hover over my then weary form,

And grows to the heights of which my soul cannot touch,

And the wind brushes my face,

And my hair becomes coarse with the sand of the desert,

Dry and brittle,

Broken leaves dancing feverishly off-beat

To the rumble of doom.

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The sun...once lighting my way, 

Now becomes as a thief in the night,

As it burns me with no fire, 

And the shadow so befriended in the day's beginnings,

Swallows me whole under the moonlight, 

And no one hears me cry, or plead for some small shread of hope,

And no mercy knows of my name, and no dream finds me,

The very beating of my heart has been forgotten by any living being,

But my eyes are singed and soon opened wide

Like a shattered pane of glass upon jagged rock

To see my heart upon the dusty earth.

And as the quill dips itself into the well of blood 

That pools at the edges of each pulse,

It writes the word...

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      ..."A-S-H-E-S"

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