Basking to you feels so cold,
Wind runs in and out my nose
As the air is tight on my lungs,
Breathing at mercies so weary,
The watery abyss below closing,
Closing in as a swamp forms in
My tired mind.
But ironic are the feelings
In my heart: as you dim,
As you grow old and shine less,
I feel closer to you, closer as
You come down: hearth, it so
Feels, like you’re a pyre, like
The flames in a campfire.
Soothing is your winter light,
No more harsh and cancerous,
No more arrows to my head.
And yes, I do feel more sickly.
But my body matters ever so little,
When I think of grandfatherly things,
Of bedtime stories and orange flames,
Kind as the old friend outside, witness
Of at least two decades of my life.
I hear battlecries,
In my head loud songs, in so fickle
A tone, so dire and
Tenebrous, yet my
Heart wants to join in, sing and
Applaud, scream and shout.
I feel my soul changing,
Soft features of down now sharp,
Metallic a gleam,
My black eyes now gold,
My patron in my etched, wings ready
To soar to the battle
Occuring below me,
Not to engage in bloodshed,
But because you’re there.
I’m now a singer,
Ballads of light and fire, just
To woo whom I love.
I won’t stop
Not until I have my wings
Not until I have my justice
Not until I have my pride
Will I stop singing songs
Of dire hearts, accusations
By the Moon and by the stream.
My flesh is young, but my heart
Is awfully old, pumping aerial fluids,
Charging my copper plumage,
Until I have my understanding.
No mercy for you,
No mercy and white flags,
No soft whispers of disagreement.
I just want one thing,
And, by Styx, you know what it is,
And as much as you fight, as much
As much is much, I will win always.
Even when I die, when my ashes
Turn to stone, I will burn in anger,
Compassion and for you sake;
If emotions are life then I won’t even die.
Blood may shed, I won’t care.
Grief may become cries, I won’t care.
Mercy may be called, I won’t care.
The world is mine, and in humility
I have caused hatred to spread.
Not anymore, no inaction anymore,
Better to kill all than let all suffer.
This is my warning: bow now
Before it’s late, before grief
Is all there is to you.
I won’t die, not by a long shot,
So be just or my prey.