Beneath the wheel that turns mist and grey,

A heroin stands where shadow starts its play.

The Wheel of Fortune spins its heavy round,

While through her heart, Three Swords pound.

A hollow cup, a Page whose love felt short,

She leaves the ruins of her broken fort.

With empty hands she marches into the night,

Seeking a spark, a dormant Ace of light.

The Knight and his vertue have lost their pace,

Behind empty cups, he veils a weary face.

The desert is vast and burning gold,

Where ghosts of a thousand battles lie untold.

But then she draws the King of Swords cold blade,

To sever the ties and the debts left unpaid.

The King of Coins though fallen from his throne,

Reveals a strength she claims as her own.

Echoes of flames, igniting fire within her soul,

Filling her cups making her whole.

The useless wars shall cease,

As Sun breaks through to bring peace.

Upon the peak, the mountain air is still,

Beyond the Lovers torn and broken will.

Death is a slow and silent, turning tide,

The dark Queen is now cast aside.

The Sun returns to crown her path again,

A striking bolt to purge away the pain.

The Exile bears a lantern through the dark,

Protecting the soul’s most sacred sparks.

The World is tilted, nearly at its rest,

An ending found within this sacred quest.

From pounding swords, she rises from the floor,

No longer bleeding as the night sky soars.