Chronicle VII
On High
The clouds in black erased the sun and sky,
As burning air leapt out the throne room doors.
The Lord of Storms did watch as heralds writhed
And filled with anger fit to split the core.
“Those knights were not of steel I now do know,
But stuffed with women’s rags and suckling meat.
My son has razed a town and still he sows
More seeds to grow dishonoring my feats.”
The temples shook with thunder and turned dark,
As clerics gathered ‘round to hear the call.
His Glory killed the weaklings and the marked,
But stronger souls persisted after all.
The cloaks and chants grew thick on mudded paths;
A holy blood now coursing fraught with wrath.
