To Tell of Leid

 

In ages past, we warring men,

Took refuge behind the truly grand,

Those who through self-sacrifice rarely gain,

Whose deeds decay with aging tongue.

And of these, I speak of one,

Whose deeds still stand so strictly great.

 

His time begins in turbulence.

When vile demons vastly ran,

While masses clumped in house of pray.

Whose preacher’s malice molded soul,

And slowly covet thought to prey.

 

Fury gripped their lust in mind,

And rounded from the nearest town,

The purest souls of orphans’ came.

Until the final faction made,

A blighted set of ten and three.

 

A gilded group of much contrast,

Contained one cultured trait,

The bearer of dependant days,

Had passed in giving.

So closer comes our hero’s tale.

 

For pewter plight and perilous,

His treaded past must seem,

As dark disdain and decadence,

Force-fed into his birth,

A seed so sinister in kind.

 

Whose roots did spread,

And quickly grow to grasp the hearts—

Of those which spoke of dread.

This dismal bigotry of difference,

Need condemn the dark.

 

So was given in every rite,

The blood of those they held so chaste,

The life of every holy hand,

Whose sacrifice did seal his fate,

A vessel to these entities.

 

Yet thought of this,

This, vile act of common fear.

His self-known origin could scarce recall

For news nor rumor or gossip much—

E’er sought his ear.

 

[Unfinished]