The rules of modern sainthood direct as follows
Otherness is a trait of the Holy
And fairytales are nightmares
And I confess, I would gladly swap my heroes for guardians,
But you didn't do a good job as either.
It has come to the point where
God must come onto the earth through your form
As you always play the martyr.
Years later I end up
Knight on a journey,
having no purpose or direction
other than the list of sins to repent for.
So I give away each pentacle
For turning valleys into mountain rages
And I give away each dove
For deepening the seas
And I part with all my wands
For straying from my path
And I fall on my own sword
For looking at the sun
One truth you have told me
And to this I didn't listen
One lie I have told myself
Magic isn't real
Because everything ends well in stories
So I rose you up and still kept falling
Onto the desert where I share tales with visions left behind