Gimel

Odie O'Dool hath been a fool, soaked in drool he dreamt of jewels

He swallowed diamonds by the stack, with velvet cakes and powdered black

He gorged on stones that sang and shined, and woke up still with hunger lined

The dream had faded into dirt, his chest was tight, his ankles hurt

His belly shook, his breath came slow — the fields around began to glow

A flicker hovered near his feet, a pulse of gold in rhythmic beat

It spiraled out, the Prophecy O, unfolding strands of molten glow

A page appeared, then symbols grew — then vanished just as he looked through

Odie rose and took a pace, then stumbled forward on his face

The scroll had caught the morning breeze — he groaned and strained against his knees

He reached with will, though arms were none — the ribbon danced, the glyphs would run

He lunged again, then hit the ground, but swore to chase the truth he found

The chase began in gasping fits, each footstep flung like bursting bits

He fell, he rolled, he rose, he wheezed — the golden paper teased and teased

His limbs were lead, his vision blurred — but still he chased that sacred word

Around he turned, around once more, his ankle sore, his spirit sore

The paper curved, the wind took part — a circle carved by burning heart

No prize was caught, no truth was held, but movement came where hunger swelled

The field was bent, the grass was worn — the center twisted like the dawn

He moved because he still believed — though nothing touched, he still received

And round he ran, not fast, but true — the dream ahead, the path he drew

A wheel began beneath his tread — and turned for others still in bed