Lohir the Lion
Agon 011
Nibbling aberrations! Boil the pipes!
Divine pride! Guilt is lethargy!
Time as fleet as traitors!
Craven teeth crack on steel – one-two, one-three!
Traitors ‘neath our claw – two-two, two-three!
You flung his mind afreak in gripless Sol!
Dark or light, far off and near, inside bloodless skulls
That ominous tract surrounds –
Beware ye borrowers yet aground!
“Attend my will: boil it hot.
The gore of beasts disgusts my Pride.
Aqueduct, most holy – pluck thine notes of rage there. Burn the blasphemous pair.”
Adahn, my Hunter, speaks: “The Quartz Peak Sol
Sustains her song. Thence we strike to defend her,
Sister Lucia, their hostage third –
She mustn’t dream of life outside. Her breath fades.
She could live a dream outside if not for death.”
“Press on, Adahn. Defend your Pride!
Distant Artora yet has your mark.
Beckon thine sisterhood home,
Do not waver to his Mirror.”
Adahn, my son, sets off. The Quartz Peak Sol
Awaits his tune. Thence he strikes for splendor
Of my city –
What glory have I without them?
Craven ink elucidates – three-two, three-three!
Count the secrets – four-two, four-three!
Cherish her pages, Artora’s gift,
Where little Lucia links the rift!
That necrotic spring confessed –
Rejoice ye followers yet unblessed!
Loquacious Sol! Bottle every drop!
Hapless hounds! Death is memory!
Ghosts to mirrors are flies to sap!
What luck have I without them?