Stone cold was the wordsmith's face when

A hologram of His was perceived by him.

A casket, where He's supposed to be

Covered in dirt and solitude.

Cassandra warned him that he'll encounter

A Poet that'll resemble the dirt

And the reflection of his muse

That once slept beside him.

Beautiful whispers led a wordsmith

To a pond where they first met.

It was already set in stone

He already knew, yet he played oblivious.

The poet whispered and longed for him.

He'd felt that the Wordsmith completed his

Once soulless soul that never found 

The appeal of breathing