Having no promises to keep,
and no bed to head to,
immeasurably shortens his miles.
Demons of the dusk, a knight’s villain of the dawn,
Having nowhere to belong.
Whose thoughts these are he’s sure to know,
he lives in silent shadow though,
Somewhere later in life.

I found myself wandering a darkened wood.
discovered within in a brilliant forest.
Between past ghosts and future dreams, I got lost.
Long now has anyone asked a promise of me,
none will notice should I choose a bed or a box,
a matted rug or the forest deep.
Like promises made and left by others
It matters not where I sleep.