I had carved my name in rivers, taught the wind to sing my tale,
I raised fortresses of moonlight, where the mortal dreams grew pale,
Now moss veils my symbols, and the sky forgets my flame,
Yet kingdoms will still whisper, the echo of my name,
The stars will still hum my verses through the hush of twilight’s glow,
While ancient oaks recall my strength that only legends will know,
Though stone may crumble, and tides can reclaim their wave,
My spirits may linger timeless–unchained by my fleeting flame,
Is this the echo of my name?
I have walked through realms uncharted, where no shadows dare to tread,
Wove thunder into silence, crowned the quiet in my final bed,
My triumphs now sleep in ruin, and my foes have turned to dust,
Yet time bends round my silence with reluctant, reverent trust,
The winds shift their stories, the stars may trade their lore,
But my echos cling to silence like waves returning to shore,
If no lips dare to utter of me, and no hand recalls my light,
What stays when silence claims the night?
The last light sank beneath the roots where none shall rise the same—
And darkness drank the final echo of my name.