-to those who would have stolen hope

You came with smoke upon your breath,
With whispered vows and stench of death.
You scaled the stones with hunger wide
But found no welcome deep inside.

You said the cure was hoarded wrong,
That in your hands would make you strong.
You spoke of saving those outside
Yet came with blades, and not with pride.

You rattled gates like starving dogs,
And cursed the guards through choking fog.
But hope is not for thieves to take,
It blooms where trust and courage wake.

The walls stood firm. The cure was spared.
The honorable will live and it was shared.
Not through the greed you failed to dress
In tatters of self-righteousness.

You left with nothing but your shame,
No stolen cure, no hero's name.
And now the songs will not recall
Your climb, but how you chose to fall.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Lupar, in the year 979 AF.