(he is not the one I wrote You for.)

Taking some form of strange delight in engaging in a verbal parry with him...for the first time in poetic form, I laughed wickedly to myself and attacked my keyboard with renewed vigor praying that I could live up to the challenge he presented as he is older than me in years...as well as poetic experience.

With reluctant joy..I offer ...The Reply.

They remain feinds,
Or so Im told,
At odds and strangely even,
Fighting the white night,
reveling in the heat of the blinding expolsions,
caused by Phoenix after phoenix,
Rising to kiss the unwarmed sun.

I go amidst the loving company,
named after myself,
No longer will I call for help,
no longer do I fear,
I reach for the mountains,
my feet cemented,
and entwined within the stone,
as long spent lovers whispering into the land.

I sit within my garden of delight,
awash'd with silver rays.
i seek nothing,
but to bath in the sweet ambrosia of my un-named pain.
pass my hands smootly,
o'er my half-swoll'd belly,
Fill'd with the bitterness i have eaten,
Feeling the satisfied fullness of a bitter pill swallowed to exaustion.

I lay back,
no longer wanting the mountains,
pillowing my head in the sea,
watching the waters swirling over me,
falling backward,
my feet still embedded in the stone,
I hold in my arms my heavy load,
and breathe my last breaths into its sharp tooth'd mouth.

It is not here my saga ends,
but on this is does depend,
That the rending mouths of my burden be pressed to my breast,
and allowed to grow,
and alowed to take its flight.