The Ballad of Verayne (Modern English)
In the vale where the cold rains tower,
stood a keep in a shadowed bower;
there Verayne by a cracked glass lay,
her pulse in a wild half‑human sway.
A bell from the distant shore
rang thin through the oaken door;
and leaves in the rising roar
whirled vows she had sworn before.
She carried a vellum scroll,
sealed deep as a guarded soul;
its marks in a tight control
spoke gates she was meant to toll.
“Seek,” it said, “where the climbing vines
bind threads into broken spines;
where stars in their ordered lines
burn truth through the faulted signs.”
Through dusk and the biting frost
she walked though the path was lost;
winds tore as she counted the cost,
yet hope held her, tempest‑tossed.
At last, though her heart wore scar,
she came to the gate of stone;
and light from a single star
fell cold on the lock alone.
Verayne pressed the vellum through—
the script woke and stirred the air;
a tremor of shifting hue,
and the sealed world opened there.
From the study on Simulacrum poems
WoPoLi 
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