The Storm
Chronicle I
Son of Storms
The Lord of Storms begot a newborn son.
From day to day he grew upon the clouds.
His strength was great. “Now surely all’s undone.
The boy is young, his power knows no bounds.”
The mother of the boy was weak yet quick.
She knew her son, with all his strength, was mute.
The boy would need a voice himself to pick,
One of whose loins he’d surely been a fruit.
“You are your father’s son, your muteness yet,
He hates with all the raging of his heart.
My son, my son, though, do not o’er this fret;
In overthrow shall you and I take part.
The Lord of Storms had yet an ancient eye
And did the blood flow from the darkened sky.
Chronicle II
The Resurrection
The mother was herself a crafty witch
And hid in caves that ran beneath the earth.
The stolen body then began to twitch.
The caverns rang with howls of rebirth.
“You speak, you speak in death you are not mute,
And now we plan your father’s grand demise.
His dirge will have no tambourine or flute
And we shall reign in time above the wise.”
“My mother, have you raised me then to die
A second death in service to your will?
My father’s death does certainly draw nigh
But you, mother, his blood shall not see spilled.”
The stinking hands took hold the witch’s hair
And rent her neck, no drop of blood was spared.
Chronicle III
Reign of Retribution
A wind blew foul from gaping mouths
Of caverns deep beneath the soil
With crops and carts on mountain South
The slanted fields filled full from toil
The thunderous steps rang out their sound
In valleys and on slopes of stone
The beast marched on and ravaged ground
Gave up its ghost with but a groan
Each soldier, farmer stood aghast
As light was snuffed from house and barn
With frantic thoughts from woven past
Of life’s short, shoddy shrinking yarn
The village vaulted prayers on high
To god of rain and cloud and sky
Chronicle IV
The Storm Gathers
Four knights ride forth on steeds of steel
With clouds in tow as fat with feast
The wind precedes while thunder peals
They ride to greet the murd’rous beast
In valley low now filled with mire
The rotting head begins to reel
The jaws release a summons dire
Four knights approach and bear their seal
The Lord of Storms has sent his thralls
To raise his banner over all
Chronicle V
The Destroyer Speaks
I will find cities and fill them with dread
I will find warriors and hoist their scarred heads
I will bring locust and fever and storm
I will bring mountains to horizon conform
I will drink of the blood of the earth
I will own mankind from death until birth
The sea filled with corpses
The land filled with graves
Among which a rotten lone lunatic raves
