Sunday 12 April 2020


Risen, like breath from beneath.  I felt it.  I have known the forge of K'athari. Crossed steel of Yash'aya.  This hand was once upon a hilt, before time and fractals fell.  Camri'lach, drowned in darkest day.  Birth of Los, and Vir, and the Ever-Falling City.  But now the procession of gates speaks for the All.  For hearts of truth and voices of holy.  I make testament for my brother on this day.  I ready the river, and the tree.  The Nis'Atur walks the Earth.  Disciple, faithful. Unbridled fury of a tender heart.  How sisters are kept, and brothers.  For the kind ones.  Peace, but a sword.  Hear me, wraiths.  I would save you if I could. Change the loom's weaving, the fabric itself.  Put you to blade of final mercy. But you are such cruel figments of sickened glass.  The ugliest inversions of hallow and the bread.  Instead I save what I can, for sign and songstress.  Beside my Mother's child I augur.  That I might humble myself at Love's Throne. Readying the river and the tree for my brother.  For words far greater than mine.  A feast of M'ithriin upon angel tongue.  Promise of Camri'lach, as once was.  Love's truest harbour – mirror and star.  His palm and cup, reborn beneath the hill.  Our living lantern followed day and night, to rising fields.  If John could offer anything to mortal kith he would offer not the letter, but the light.  The homeland is nowhere but the heart, in the end.  What makes a Father, or a Son, if not the Spirit?

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