Endless plains of grey,
No butterflies, yet there are moths.

No shining lights,

yet some spots are less dark.

Nary a soul in sight,

yet when I speak, they hear me.


Scales That Linger overhead,

Steady in Sleep though You may toss,

By tales of You may mothers wed,
Ready to reap a new day out of loss.


For The Order of the Uncovered Path,

With the frozen Defiance of The Tears,

I draw a border upon the Lover's Wrath,
A brazen Alliance against all Fears.


It will come rushing in,

like a tide upon the black,

Hear now the blushing sin,
that fills what pride left slack.

Go take of the garden,
the orchards and the fields.

Steal some steel to harden,
our wards and our shields.

Pour some prose upon the Dearest of Arts.
read the number wrote upon the Runes.

For some of those with the purest of Hearts,
heed Whose umbra smote the Moons.

A valley born of Light,
now open for seven claws.

As alleys torn by blight,
now hope for heaven's calls.

A plateau alfight upon the stage,
their best bet needs a wall of wet.

An isle alight for the rage,
a jest set before we all met.

A lid upon a bronze bowl,
does not make of it a jar.
A bid upon an icon's soul,
does not make of one a star.

All those meek curses now broken,
Shatter not the cage.
Eyes to seek verses oft spoken,
matter not to the page.


Penned by my hand on the 13th of Glacian, in the year 1005 AF.