A lone melody escapes the depths of darkness,
The earth lies slain, the wind’s pulse heartless.
Grand regiments of light march on unceasingly,
But bow to the Majesty of Perception increasingly.
A chorus builds hurriedly in harmonic dissonance,
Green trembles shyly to pale blue’s impudence.
Now all wait on edge for a glimpse of his highness,
And when the Red Guard rush forth finally he rises.
~Poet of Ephraim
Poet of Ephraim 