kalindra
Adept
Called the mighty wind her champion as hand she did extend,
Surveyed the death of misery, what once She did intend.
They came in fearful silence whence all tragedies arise,
And found the darkness lurking there behind her feathered eyes.
In me they saw the mirror that reflects the azure sky,
And in me they saw the Champion, and with her we shall rise.
With the zephyr flowing through us we shall call her to return,
And with open eyes and open hearts our chains we set to burn.
But with every beat of heart we mourn the lost behind the door,
Our people working ceaseless to restore what grew before.
To reclaim the storm before the calm that fell and save for the sinister forest that grew where we planted my tenuous grasping at fragments of places I've taken my loves where we followed the road leading forward and backward and everywhere leaving us losing our purpose and always they bring us to dreading the coming of dawn ...
it is them to whom all else converges with splintering echoes of joy ... and the trembling aspens were first to go falling
before they could see how with boundless devotion
they could all have gone broken in sight of the blackness of Hallows
where else could the bodies be found
but the end
...
--Amy Hale
Surveyed the death of misery, what once She did intend.
They came in fearful silence whence all tragedies arise,
And found the darkness lurking there behind her feathered eyes.
In me they saw the mirror that reflects the azure sky,
And in me they saw the Champion, and with her we shall rise.
With the zephyr flowing through us we shall call her to return,
And with open eyes and open hearts our chains we set to burn.
But with every beat of heart we mourn the lost behind the door,
Our people working ceaseless to restore what grew before.
To reclaim the storm before the calm that fell and save for the sinister forest that grew where we planted my tenuous grasping at fragments of places I've taken my loves where we followed the road leading forward and backward and everywhere leaving us losing our purpose and always they bring us to dreading the coming of dawn ...
it is them to whom all else converges with splintering echoes of joy ... and the trembling aspens were first to go falling
before they could see how with boundless devotion
they could all have gone broken in sight of the blackness of Hallows
where else could the bodies be found
but the end
...
--Amy Hale
