About: Poet's Night

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Poet's Night is a poem by the bard, Fisher kel Tath. "I am knownin the religion of rage.Worship me as a poolof blood in your hands.Drink me deep.It’s bitter furythat boils and burns.Your knives were smallbut they were many.I am namedin the religion of rage.Worship me with youroffhand cutslong after I am dead.It’s a song of dreamscrumbled to ashes.Your wants overflowedbut now gape empty.I am drownedin the religion of rage.Worship me untodeath and downto a pile of bones.The purest bookis the one never opened.No needs left unfulfilledon the cold, sacred day. I am foundin the religion of rage.Worship me in astream of curses.This fool had faithand in dreams he wept.But we walk a desertrocked by accusations,where no man starveswith hate in his bones." ―Poet’s Night i.ivThe Malazan Book of the

Attributes	Values
rdfs:label	Poet's Night
rdfs:comment	Poet's Night is a poem by the bard, Fisher kel Tath. "I am knownin the religion of rage.Worship me as a poolof blood in your hands.Drink me deep.It’s bitter furythat boils and burns.Your knives were smallbut they were many.I am namedin the religion of rage.Worship me with youroffhand cutslong after I am dead.It’s a song of dreamscrumbled to ashes.Your wants overflowedbut now gape empty.I am drownedin the religion of rage.Worship me untodeath and downto a pile of bones.The purest bookis the one never opened.No needs left unfulfilledon the cold, sacred day. I am foundin the religion of rage.Worship me in astream of curses.This fool had faithand in dreams he wept.But we walk a desertrocked by accusations,where no man starveswith hate in his bones." ―Poet’s Night i.ivThe Malazan Book of the
dcterms:subject	Poems
dbkwik:malazan/pro...iPageUsesTemplate	dbkwik:resource/bv87VbTMQAabdkY2UehCrA== dbkwik:resource/isdxyDndOPEMkOKT1Eyhcg== dbkwik:resource/hBzFJVdzegHWts63Po7Z-A==
abstract	Poet's Night is a poem by the bard, Fisher kel Tath. "I am knownin the religion of rage.Worship me as a poolof blood in your hands.Drink me deep.It’s bitter furythat boils and burns.Your knives were smallbut they were many.I am namedin the religion of rage.Worship me with youroffhand cutslong after I am dead.It’s a song of dreamscrumbled to ashes.Your wants overflowedbut now gape empty.I am drownedin the religion of rage.Worship me untodeath and downto a pile of bones.The purest bookis the one never opened.No needs left unfulfilledon the cold, sacred day. I am foundin the religion of rage.Worship me in astream of curses.This fool had faithand in dreams he wept.But we walk a desertrocked by accusations,where no man starveswith hate in his bones." ―Poet’s Night i.ivThe Malazan Book of the FallenFisher kel Tath "If you never knewthe worlds in my mindyour sense of losswould be small pityand we'll forget this on the trail.Take what you're givenand turn away the screwed face.I do not deserve it,no matter how narrow the strandof your private shore.If you will do your bestI'll meet your eye.It's the clutch of arrows in handthat I do not trustbent to the smile hitching my way.We aren't meeting in sorrowor some other suturebridging scares.We haven't danced the samethin iceand my sympathy for your troublesI give freely without thoughtof reciprocity or scales on balance.It's the decent thing, that's allEven if that thingis a stranger to so many.But there will be secretsyou never knewand I would not choose any other way.All my arrows are burried andthe sandy reach is broadand all that's privatecools pinned on the alter.Even the drips are gone,that child of wantswith a mind full of worldsand his reddened tears.The days I feel mortal I so hate.The days in my worlds,are where I live for ever,and should dawn ever arriveI will to its light awakenas one reborn." ―Poet's Night iii.iv

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