Through and beneath the door,
the Insatiable Past,
its slithering remainder,
scourging on,
windfuls of wrathful cries:
"¡¡Abdicate!! ¡¡Yield !!! ¡¡Yield!!"
Been there,
my say so,
to their eyes,
to their ears,
a no show reign,
mere and nullified;
all of it....
Mere and nullified,
this crooked back of a Kaysar,
glaring back at me,
that king of mine... me,
lonely, just a shadow,
in the dark of a mirror,
still gripping on,
the pommel of my sword.
¿Could this be the Defeat?
¿The Finale Defeat...brother?
Long I searched for you,
down and under the South,
its darkly and still lowly secrets,
are just mere and babel,
unlike your quest...brother.
Through the barred window,
outside of my baleful home,
down and below,
there, awaits;
my finale defeat,
the people babbling on,
with their eunuch tongues:
"¡¡Abdicate!! ¡¡Yield!!! ¡¡Yield!!"
The echoes of my mind,
cried out:
"¡¡Arise!! ¡¡Arise !!"
Alas, dire was my being,
typical, unyielding cruelty,
which were my chains,
but a sacred within told me:
"¡¡Damn you, old man!!
¡¡Arise!! ¡¡Arise !!!"
Even the dark of the mirror,
bore a shadow,
a shadow of my smile,
a grimace to my dimly sight.
"O, Sentinels, O' ancestors of mine,
for my father...."
Suddenly, my will,
by the will of the Past Folk,
my blood and sacred within,
I heard it,
cold and malevolent,
the laughter was,
then I saw him,
from crooked back,
to standing tall,
his fists shivering,
by the barred window,
I knew, I felt it,
it was the cold hard north,
the Barren Corridor.
Our minds,
at the cross-roads,
for he wandered back,
to the curtain of shadows,
where the dark of the mirror lies;
still on my knees,
I heard it again,
it opened and closed,
one final time,
the once Crooked-Back Kaysar,
had crossed the edge of darkness,
the Barred Window,
shone its final rain,
unto his Majesty,
a living tapestry of practical regalia,
upon the pommel,
of his sheathed blade,
rested his right hand,
while the other,
a ready fist at ease.
The scourging shadows,
had failed...
The mirror was left,
mere and nullified,
the sacred within,
bore his grimace,
that gazed a doom,
of despair and fury,
the spur of his boots,
chimed its final march,
for its master:
"Kaysar Steppan I,
of the First Shadow"
Unbent, I stood,
to sing your will.
Our minds again,
at the cross-roads,
the pride of my eyes,
before your eyes.
Thorns sewn,
sacred within,
deep within my heart,
that what I saw,
the scars and shivers,
of your rested hand,
upon the sword's pommel,
that grimaced,
a delight for soon steel.
My May-flower,
to be left,
to passed you by,
with just my solemn march,
forgive me,
I left it shut,
but I never left,
without a look,
without an embrace,
from you, my May-flower;
the Barred Cold,
had passed on.
Father...
Yet I stood there,
your final march,
your death-march,
¿Why pray?
¿For bloodshed?
You left....
a blood garden.
of boiling tears,
they await for you.
YOU ARE READING
CORAZÓN AGUIJÓN (Crónicas de los Infra-Reinos) by DeLeon Cortes A.
Fantasy"The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction" -William Blake-
