REQUIEM

 

Ithriis, of the first glyph. The ancient, feathered tongue. When music first formed the flesh of Man. Eth'iriis, of the first dreaming. Look, poets; tellers of the tallest tales. Look at the land. Hear it. Y'iththriil, of root, trunk, and howling branch. Forest wraith, wandering barefoot and mad. Hooded wolf in hollow tree. Star, angel, dragon. Seer and prophet? Bard or conjurer? Shapeshifter, in a word. Edgewalker. Before the Saxons or the Romans. Lake, forge, water, and fire. I should know. As an artisan I do not bend the arc for glory alone. Man is only wild if his wildness is explicable, else he is nature itself. Y'ithriin, ahba ahba. Protect the heart, old one. Dramatis personae. Here in these circles of salt, silver, and blood. Brighter than skyfire, the inward eye. Kasi, they call us in the Vedic tongues of river and sea. An epithet used by countless anonymous poets. Eth'rai, Eth'rai, of glyph and king. Father, father, haunt the tree and scare away the saddest songs with your lament. Because the act of dreaming yearns in distinction from waking. The anguished gulf between what is and what might be. So, men carry wolves with their echoes. Rest, and resurrection. Stars, angels, and dragons. Are we not anonymous? Nameless? Unassuming? Blood of blade, in lineage of light. Salt of sacred, for remembrance of all nameless innocent. Song of silver, for those who pray for hopes of a better way. Brothers, birthrights, sisters, and sons. Drawn from the circle of stone. Look, wanderers; keepers of the eldest truth. Look at the flesh, the rising belly of the land. Hear her. When music first sang the soul of Man.