Cormyrian Sons

[Artimus DeLonde]

Alone, the air starts to smell like
roasting beets and the rat that
died under the floor.  Cormyrian sons,
Provincial daughters, that kind of lineage.

Alone, their thoughts unhinge from dappled
ceilings. Crashed and spying under doors
with tilted frames, someone speaks.
Until.  But nothing ever opens.

Alone, one voice in particular, and the horns
across town interrupts it.  One in particular,
mumbles an old song about the leagues of
suffering that a century can bring.  

Alone, and the first thing he sees are his father’s bones.  
What we eat to survive. Cast steele shadows,
a compass in the corner, Mother's torn Épée.
What we eat to survive.

[Ao]

A sailor's song? Or lament?

[Artimus DeLonde]

and the day will come
when ways of light are bathed in darkness
the streets are abandoned and barren
every man's heart is filled with fear
and hope has bome a distant memory

And when the laughing liar rises
and a pact is promilsed
the forces will be gathed
and Man and his kind meet their fate.

Thou seest,
the Master of the Dark Sun
Thou seest,
the Bloodspoiled Mad God
Thou seest,
the Lord of Three Crowns
Thou seest,
the end heralded by the Prince of Lies

He dances, he dances,  he dances

[Ao]

Haunting and awesome! Love the poetry, DeLonde

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