Legend

Believe not overmuch in providence.

Journey not to uncover that beyond reach.

For everything that needs be found,

Cannot be found.

Listen not for fallen structures.

Seek not erroneous say,

Nor the springing of shoots,

Nor the fallacies of seasons.

When countries rise.

And kings ride.

When belief takes root.

Black fangs will unfurl in the sun.

And Serpents shall walk the Earth again.

The Fall (Night of Fire)

Now how I wish this you did not have to hear, dear.

If only it were so.

Yes, I do remember what happened that night.

All too well, who among us could ever forget?

Twilight wove her cape around us.

‘twas a night like any other.

All minding their own.

Till the footsteps cracked through the streets.

We could hear them.

Who knew what would happen,

On that fateful night?

When a cosmic wrath was unleashed.

And a hero fell.

Spectres floating forward.

In the cool night.

Men of proud bearing.

Unquestioning, unceasing.

None to stand in their way.

Only the flicker of lanterns,

Swaying with their stride.

I saw as they entered the house.

Blades flashing, fires feeding.

A rending clangour.

Shrieks and cries assailed us.

Cowed us.

Enough to make the skin crawl.

Lock the doors, bolt the windows, I said to everyone.

Praying for it to swiftly pass.

And when the sounds died down.

We knew.

Shadows emerged from the sepulchral doors.

What can I say about them?

Dead eyes, set on steel faces.

And leading them, at the centre,

A burning doom.

The Call

Long have I stood on the Earth.

Before all who first drew breath.

It was I who calmed her fiery anger.

Eons of roiling fury, crooned to a halt.

It was I, bringing forth life.

I they worshipped, I they despised.

For all I am, ‘tis true what they say.

Treacherous they call me.

Wrathful, unpredictable, a spiteful god.

Yet am I to choose how I came to be?

I, who have borne the mightiest ships.

The wooden behemoths that cleave through trenchantly.

Masters of the deep, they think.

Nurtured the children of the water, held the young of the walkers.

Ha, what pitiable creatures.

Come now, great one, what do you fear?

For you would not be the first to be consumed.

For my gaze has swept over you.

As you lean over the side of the bow.

Watching, as you contemplate me.

Oh Destroyer, Slayer, Hunter of Souls.

Obliterate your worries, lay aside your cares.

Give yourself over.

Do not be overly wary.

Fear is not what I would have.

In me, you shall find peace.

Like the countless before you.

Misgivings, I see.

A ghost,

A perennial shackle.

How long has it been?

But until you give yourself,

Will you ever know,

If you have truly lived?

Will you ever know,

If you can heal?

The King of Djinns

This be a tale of long ago.

Beyond the threads of memory.

Before domin, before nation, before empire.

Before the conflagrations that rent the Earth.

A tale of he who gave and lost.

What he struck, still untouched.

Long ago, when man was beginning to wake.

Casting off the mists of slumber.

Seeing, walking, feeling, touching.

This one rose out of the grey.

Through the forest splinters and the lacerating sands was he forged.

By the might of stone and the searing light strengthened.

But rootless was he.

Wandering the land, going to and fro.

Tarrying never, even when clothed in joy.

Succouring the poor, the helpless.

For the mighty stone and the searing light would brook no wrong.

Great vengeance wrought he against those who preyed.

Feared became his red helm and blade.

Seeming one of the holy ones, out of scripture.

The King of Djinns! The King of Djinns! they all cheered.

Now, Great Serpent, why tell you all this, you ask?

Ah, but what happens to all men came to pass.

For he became overproud, too sure of himself.

Blanketing himself in the faith of others.

Far too great became his reprisals.

Too numerous and terrible are they to mention here.

Even the great annals dare not speak of them.

Alas, in the end, what other course was there?

And so the great hero was overwhelmed.

Pride became his downfall.

Bound and gagged, chained and caged.

Lowered into the clutches of the merciless ice.

To save themselves, they all said.

Over and over, until their hearts said ‘twas true.

As to the hero’s fate, ‘twas not the end.

Ascend did he.

Becoming Commander of the Host of Paradise.

Even after death, ever he battled the dark.

Giving it no peace.

Rightful, many said.

For was he not once the greatest among us?

‘tis said he still watches over all.

A score millennia and more to the day.

Think you not this some tale to scare the truculent.

Insouciance would be ill-conceived, Great Serpent.

Stay to your path, temper your zeal.

Err not and go down the road of hubris.

Lest his fate befall you too.

Grey Hands

They peer down at these grey hands

Now a dead wall, with nothing to see

Striated, grazed by the days gone by

Yet dead, blank, in her eyes

A second, all it is

The corrugations embedded in flesh

Layers mushrooming in front of her eyes

The return to dust

As is the path of all living

The cackles and simpering unbearable

The walls giving no shelter

A false shield

When it seems all has ended

Now nothing to anchor to the living

None to listen

None to understand

None to embrace

She looks over at the void beside her

An unmarked canvas, an abyss of suffering and hate

Beyond her reach

Does it all count for anything, she asks

Did it mean anything?

And then, descending on that horror

The repulsive plane of foreboding

Too terrible to contemplate

Oh, why does it surface now?

Not now, not ever

I will not sully what remains, she says

But deep in her heart, she always knew

Losing was a certainty

As the falling of autumn leaves

As a river runs to the sea

And so it imprints on her mind

Forcing her to see

And to accept

Was it even…?

These Streets

Something hangs in the air.

What is this pleasant breeze?

What is this singing that fills the trees?

That rides the winds, twines through the alleys?

That crawls the walls, circles the young?

Borne on the wings of sparrows?

That caps the lumberous, grating wheels?

Sidling along the curb, swirling around laughter?

But remembrance is both friend and foe.

Feel the harsh touch of the blackstone.

Remember the cheerful sounds of childhood in bloom.

Remember the healing wind that touches all.

The pattering of water with the murky clouds.

The blooming sun as the dark curtain gives way.

The melody that fills the air.

That once you said was the wallpaper in the house of life.

Remember the cloaking peace of the green waters.

The wind rushing past the leaves.

Remember the beating of wings of sparrow and butterfly.

The voices of a thousand calling out.

Remember drowning in the haze.

Remember these streets when they are long gone.