The Name of the Wind

Four doors of the mind to cope with our pain

Are shrouded but open and deep in our brain.

The first one is sleep which offers retreat.

We hide from the world, where's noone to meet.

Those things that can hurt will vanish and fade.

Neglecting your faults, the errors you made.

The second's forgetting. Some wounds are too deep

To heal or to vanish. We cannot just sleep.

If wounds are not real, but memories instead,

You'll displace these memories while resting in bed.

The third one is madness. Your mind goes insane.

Reality's gone and caught by a chain.

You could not forget, left all things behind.

Your mind becomes dizzy and pain will be blind.

The last one is death: the final resort.

You'll die when you're old, by sickness or sword.

Yet pain is not all: You've loved and you've sinned

When finally you'll know the name of the wind.