My Heart Knows Not

If twas up to me to mend the twisted
parts, reforge the mangled metal giant,
I'd Rook's flightless soul revive, resist it
not my clumsy hand's repair: defiant
roam the air, be free. For what has he to
do with me? I have not wings to beat
the world away, nor dives that deadly do
rebuke it. I'm no cold, majestic seat.
I have not fire to breathe, 'less tears could
stream so vengefully they sting, brand, and burn
other than my cheeks. If strength I would,
I'd search no longer through these books, but turn

to him. Yet, my heart knows not the myst'ry
to mimic metal; nor rebuild Havemercy.