Love binds the world, they say - yet hands release when the price grows high.
What virtue is love if it bows to power and lets the honest fall aside?
Alone I guard a fragile flame no chorus came to defend.
Would you still love the hand that strikes the one who will not bend?

If love serves the strong, then nothing in the order will amend.
To raise me breaks their favor; to leave me keeps their trend.
There is no neutral ground where truth and comfort blend.
So I carry not a blade - only a will that will not end.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Miraman, in the year 999 AF.