My kind of madness all the world needs,

a greater gift than any king can keep,

moreso, perhaps, than noble knightly deeds,

or daily dreams, or even weakly sleep.

What am I, looking round myself, my part,

my lines recited, roses thrown in kind,

with smashed teeth smiling through my shattered heart,

and what crawls through the cracks from back behind –

Are You Listening? Regret

my son, so young . . . and, lest I soon forget,

why have we not been reunited yet?

-Alistair "Hale" Sauterne