Inkblood flows through my veins

From author ancestor once unknown

Volunteer soldier, self-made scholar,

Martial Master; Warrior of Words

Beholden to the battlefield

Of both sword and song.


A poet slain by his own writing hand,

Ultimate poem soaked in poison.

My inkblood and quill of soul

Echo your very own.

Your pen is not alone;

You are known.


I dare behold your legacy.

With blade still warm,

And edge yet sharpened.

My hands may tremble,

My quill is not worthy,

Yet I, your son of sons,

Dare inherit your legacy.