Work Text:
Avarice is a funny thing,
And passed to a daughter from a king
It turned back our plaintive cry
And sacrificed the haven and its battered kin
As fodder
For hungry blades and tired arms
Before her child’s face, mirrored in skin,
So like our brothers,
A memory old and raw opened
Deeper and anew.
So resemblances turned callous warriors hands
And made them kind.
But there is no redemption or fulfilment at the last.
Our swords have not fallen from the tainted sky
And though regret and sorrow cloud the mind
Mute the tongue in plaintive begging for mercy
We can but obey
And raise steel a final time.
When our swords finally fade into ringing silence
A new blaze engulfs us,
Forcing screams into the night
Wracking forms in an un-marred light
That burns the lost sons of paradise.
A glory undying such as ours
Can do all but fade
Stained as it is by deeds and rage
This dying light will last through the gale
To warn you with our lives.
And memory will hold us
And hold to us our crimes
Turning young and feeble minds
To steely walls
And make them wiser.