Mag Mell Osmose
Deadlights of hoary spirits
Slowly descend down the valley,
Land of the Shalott could hear it –
Warriors singing their medley…
Chaplet of bows and arrows
Is their gravely requital.
Losing their auras and marrows,
Last what they see is a Rider.
The Goddess in vermeil
Gives Bright for the morrow,
She lips gemstone tears on marble
Till clover in hands cinders in gale
And pallid Aimend shines dolor…
The fog of remembrance
Bedights newly born.
Sharp wind still resembles
A grief that was torn.
At first, errant pneumas,
Then asters of wisdom,
They turn into loomings
Or feigned epic heroes.
Seven archons of Anwvynn
Consecrate ill-fated knights.
Hill-men with cold-blooded hearts
Fall to chancel of delight…
Judgment day approaches us,
In their crowns, sun-rimmed and white,
Seven revenants arise
With a Mirror of green Light.
Where would you find stellar meadows,
Kingdom beneath spectral oceans,
Mountains with splendor of shadows –
Lordly award for devotion?
The Goddess in vermeil
Gives Bright for the morrow,
She lips crystal tears on marble
Till clover in hands cinders in gale
And pallid Aimend shines dolor…
Don’t keep knightly blood
In fear and trembling,
Unveil your disguise,
Let sanctified arise!
Bedewed with Balor’s wine
The heroes contemplate
Their earthly sins in shrine –
Grim stories of the Late.
