Pay careful attention traveler, 
For treasure here resides.
In faceless throng of audience
A pauper does confide.

Out there past the foggy banks,
Where valley spills to floor,
A descendant of Syro,
Lay siege to heavens door.

Along with them an army;
Of many gods and one.
To supplant aging hierarchy,
And through clouds find the sun. 

The orator first breaks the wards,
With disarming repose.
Then with fellow riddle-smith,
Prys with probing prose.

Once there is a slipway there,
Where sleeping, spells can seek,
Pretender enters throne room.
To promised kingdom peek. 

It's there where fear does linger.
Aged on crumbled throne.
Our hero simply whispers,
The powerful made prone.

A simple shape and movement;
Brave in burning light.
A candle 'gainst an ocean,
An embrace in the fight.  

The world spins 'round the stillness,
Where inheritor claims,
The sacred power promised,
To reshape ancient pain.

And so the hold is captured,
And though the subjects bleed,
Hope lay in the marriage of
Desire and need.

Keep walking in tight circles then,
Toward gods you do adore.
Each revelation worth a damn
Is worth the waiting for.

  • Author: Quemis (Offline Offline)
  • Published: June 24th, 2022 18:14
  • Comment from author about the poem: ...
  • Category: Unclassified
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