As Ever Like the Sun & Moon at War

8- ❂❂ -XIII

He makes his way along the corridors

until he comes upon the central spire,

whereat he climbs the spiral stairs toward

the top, the temp'rature now dropping down

again until his breath is visible,

and once again his body shivers cold,

yet also makes a heat from in his gut

as noted by the witch who gave him drink;

yet th'heat that he produces deep inside

is not a comfort—rather doth it seem                10

as almost though there's something that hath torn

within his form, or's tearing currently.

Atop the stairs doth he suppress these thoughts,

and with his hands he pushes up a hatch

within the ceiling, swinging open to

the roof on which he climbs, surrounded now

by raging blizzard threat'ning push him off

the tower with its howling mountain winds.

He stabilizes self and faces west,

for though cannot he see beyond the storm,                20

he knows the city and the marching knights

are down below and waiting for his words.

Our Preacher walks toward the turret's edge

and mounts the parapet in crenel's dip

whilst holding self upright on merlon's top

with lefter hand whilst curling up his Glove

and pressing it upon his lips to make

a sort of bugle of his fingers wrapp'd.

And concentrating now upon his throat

this will of his to make his message heard               30

he shouts these words into the frigid air,

surpris'd—despite he was aware that he

could do it—by the thunder of his voice:

"To ev'ry soldier of the city state

who treks these mountains, here I ask of ye:

do cease this march. Return toward your homes.

This conquering shall only sow a hate

toward the conqueror—a discontent

that future generations shall be made

to bear on either side. This battle you                40

do wish to bring upon our island home

shall only fester after it is done,

and though our city thinks we'll spread our ways

and force assimilation, tolerance

instead is what we all should strive t'achieve.

Assimilation's earn'd; it can't be push'd,

or else you're only sowing genocide,

and that shall rest upon your consciences

as roses who appear so beautiful,