Game Enjambment is a reoccurring poetry series on games and gaming.

Will no one blare the Deku pipes, the five-belled horn?
We need a dirge. The Deku Butler comes to mourn

his son, that tragic tree husk, woodface topped with leaves,
those sorrowed, hollowed eyes. The Deku Butler grieves

alone.

He kneels before that shell, its soul torn out and carved
into a mask of transformation, wooden, starved

of closure, like that moment when the heart piece breaks
apart from whole. The prostrate Deku Butler aches

alone.

But we’ve each been the Deku Butler’s son. We’ve borne
his likeness, like we’ve taken other shapes. We’ve worn

his face, embodied him, a hapless, stunted shrub.
We came into this land reduced into a scrub,

alone.

What privilege to change appearances. We’ve worn
his face…    Resound your Deku pipes, the five-belled horn

for him! This instrument shall not remain unblown
today. The Deku Butler does not grieve alone.

Read the rest of the Game Enjambment series.