Nathrangking

Poem 25

Flight

Gates aflame with fires gathered from the very pits that Hades created to punish the wicked groan and splinter. A vast metropolis smokes as it is smitten by the blows of armies cobbled together from the edges of the mortal plane. Temples are filled with worshippers begging the masters and mistresses of the cosmos to come to aid them. The winds do not even stir as the road to the realm of the dead is overrun by defenders, innocents, and invaders alike. Plagues spread out as even children wander the streets foraging for crumbs to fill their skeletal forms. Families turn on each other and callously the gods do nothing. Those who are upraised watch as this last stronghold of wisdom and freedom is assaulted and broken. From the barred entranceway comes a roar as the enemy comes pouring through weapons thirsty for a glut of blood to feed both themselves and the earth. Left and right mounds of corpses rise into the air as an obscene offering to those uncaring deities who reside in the upper worlds. 

A clarion rings out now from the heights as a lone figure descends upon the notes of a song and freezes the invaders where they stand. Weapons turn to dust and a dread falls like the heaviest of shrouds over those who relish their killing. She comes now driving light and wondrous sound into defiled souls. These attackers fall to their knees when she approaches not even daring to gaze into her eyes that lead to another realm. Violence bleeds away when her music fills the air and clothes hearts in something like the warmth that comes of true love and the knowledge that one is no longer alone. Primordials come to praise her while she resurrects the city through the tune that flows from her lips, but in their shame, they flee. Empress and savior, they name her though she asked for no crown. In the heavens, hers is the brightest of stars and on the earth, her name is a spell of salvation. All is restored and her capital is the illumination that purges corruption from the very blood of the world.