"In the hush before dawn, when Uud still sings to stone and flame, the Elven remember—Elorde, the Lord of Light veiled in sorrow. His breath shaped our first tongue, and his fall etched prophecy into the bones of time."
"The Final Bloom of Helios"(An Untitled Verse from the Broken Glyphs)
When oceans churn and still stars blink, And Leviathans shift in the deep unseen Know ye, O Helios, the clock is cracked, And time no longer dreams in green.
When fire flows from frost-born womb, And every race brings forth a flame One child of each, not born, but flared Shall bear no crest, yet carve a name.
When the Willow Prince bleeds golden rain, And Alfheim weeps with roots unstrung, The World-Tree groans beneath its weight And bells in buried cities rung.
When Heaven's son, in silver shroud, Turns blade on laws once held divine, And dares to climb with broken wings The stars shall cough in ash and brine.
Then shall the sky-Leviathan fall, Split wide by one who weeps for kin; Its death shall mark the turning gate, And open what should ne'er begin.
But lo! The Prince shall rise once more, Wreathed in grief and songless breath, To walk the path the gods forsook, wear the face that shadows death.
Beware the dance with mirrored friend, Where smile and sword alike shall gleam; Two foes shall twirl on tethered threads, And waltz within a closing dream.
These are the signs.....the seven scars, The blood writ script across the dome. Let kings beware, let gods disband, For Rain, the Wound, is coming home.
"The Dream of Ymir"(from the Scroll of the Forsaken Root)
In silence slept the Giant Ymir, Beneath the Veil where stars expire, And dreamt of worlds in crystal thread A sky unburnt, a sea unsaid.
He dreamed of forests veined with fire, Of children born from wind and mire, Of silver beasts with voices clear, And gods who'd bend the light to hear.
Then came the Three with blades of fate, Drunk on the breath of unmade hate. They cleaved his throat and split his breast And built the world from holy rest.
But what the bards and seers ignore He saw it all in dreams before. And when they raised their hands to kill, He smiled and bled with ghostlike will.
His bones became the mountains steep, His blood the brine where sailors sleep, His breath the wind, his hair the field His heart the core the stars must yield.
O mourn the Wound that sang the spheres, The first to fall, the last in tears. Though gods parade their hollow throne, Their roots are fed from Ymir's bone.
Yet not all gifts the vision gave Lie buried deep in ocean grave A child shall rise from ash and rain, Who bears both wrath and Ymir's name.
He walks with blood beneath his heel, His breath a curse the stars shall feel. The gods shall weep their golden hoard When Rain unsheathes the Giant's sword.
The First Man
Before the tongue of time was loosed,Before the stars had names or use,He rose! not born, but willed from Flame,The Axis-Mind, the Thought-with-Name.
He strode the void with feet unshod,Where none had been, he marked and trod;His voice, a furnace vast and white,Spoke dust to stone and dark to light.
Mountains bowed to feel his gaze,And oceans surged in patterned praise;The winds were chords beneath his hand,He sang and worlds began to stand.
No wound he knew, no law above,For he was cause and breath and love;His pulse became the rhythm's source,And Uud uncoiled from his course.
He named the beast, the blade, the star,And knew each thing for what they are;No mirror dared reflect his shapeFor what could match the form he draped?
The sun was struck from out his chest,The moon from thoughts he never guessed;And every fire that men invokeWas lit by ash from words he spoke.
But time, that thief no will can tame,Crept soft and strange upon his frame.He knelt one eve by nameless tree,And sighed, and ceased....and ceased to be.
No tomb could bind him, none could holdHe passed into the myths retold;And though the stars still hum his hymn,The world grows pale remembering him.
O First of Men, whose bones are light,We drink your dusk, we dream your height But mourn the flame we cannot find,Who once lit gods, and left no kind.
The Elven Lord
In marrowed halls of starlit glade,Where silver roots through night are laid,He walks unshod, unmarrowed, free The Lord whom Time forgot to see.
His eyes are moons in mirrored braid,Twin lanterns lost in mythic shade,Each breath a rune, unspoken, old,Etched deep where sky to branch unfolds.
He speaks: and forests kneel in hush,The veins of Uud begin to rush,As if the sap recalled the floodBefore the gods grew flesh from mud.
Who dares recall the breaking vowWhen stars wore helms and bent the bough?He stood on cliffs the world disowns,Wreathed not in crown but thundered stones.
The Loom he touched unwove its thread,The weft of fate turned back and bled;The Spindle, once in maiden's palm,Now sings in storms his name as psalm.
He is the end of every seed,The sword that grows instead of bleeds,A wound that dreams, a flame that grievesA myth that hunts what myth believes.
O Elven Lord, unclaimed by death,Who drinks the dusk and bleeds the breathWhat lies within thy silence bound,But time reversed and gods unground?
Let mortals pray their stars remain,For should he rise and speak againThe sun shall weep its golden chord,And bend the knee before the Lord.
"So the runes fall silent, and the stars hold their breath for the Elven Lord walks the waking world once more, and the gods, who carved fate in arrogance, will soon remember fear."