LADY OF THE HALLOWS

A noble horse parts the iron storm clouds

his snow wings nurse skies rent by tears

He bears a maid born in pure rays

A holy race bows to Luce their bride.

The regal steed lands; earth brims green hope

his gilt horn flares; sin roars and spits.

New glory robes hearts; they soar past woods

and drift in peace with Luce well blest.

A MERMAID'S GIFT

I stroll by shores in mists of morn

The harp lulls air; milk tides flare gilt.

A sea maid sighs; her fish tail glints

she signs my eyes; her jade ring heats

and wakes the tale of grace long slain.

“O lady,” I weep, “cast a red lock

to melt dark arts and blast the crone!”

Words bathe my soul; her lips are mute

“I seal your heart, so foil this doom!”

WALTZ OF HALOS

A swan ship glides and leads my soul

to the blest hill of Zela's white isle.

Her blue rose sings; it bears no spines

I hear fire speak her wish for man.

The glad sun bows as rays kiss earth

a dark snake bleeds; the pure lamb reigns.

I veil my face to greet love's gift

and waltz with light for iron is rust.

BIRTH OF THE HALLOWS

As jade spires glint in bows of lace

old Tain clips gilt from grey silk plaits.

He fans red wings; lakes brim with buds

dew sprays the rocks; a rare harp strums

roots bear high elves; palms hail their gifts.

Tain drapes his light to shield the realm

A surge of volts jerks earth from sleep

All gaze on skies that smile and flash.

THE HERALD'S VISION

The holy sage chants; fire robes a star

Zor strides in snow; his feet trail soot.

A maid bleeds light; ash mars her train

the witch king sneers as puce gas coils

and storms her mind to aid his plot.

The high slave fades in halls of grace

Zor's pure mask rips; iron stabs a lord.

That fell scene dies; bones thud on tiles

for man's blest gift is blitzed by grief.

TODAY IS FOR LOVE

A ruby dart sails, it sears my palm

I feel the surge of glory and bliss.

Larks waltz with doves to kiss my brow

the mystic gate parts; all holy seals melt

so halos may rise and paths shine true.

Hark a horn blasts! Hail riders in white!

O come dear prize! Call magic to blaze

for arid, grey souls whose hopes are dross.

THE MARCH OF THE ELECT

A pink veil drifts; the fir trees bow

as pearl globes wink and blue capes trail.

Stars bead sun hair; buds flow from lips

rapt faces spark gems; hands clasp to pray

for cities of ice where acid rots men.

Lead spikes stab faith; hate lobs her boils

rocks groan in pangs; the gifted souls writhe

their mute tears gush and salve earth's woes.