Into the Shadow
Woe-worker, doer of ill, shadow-caster, traitor they call him. Abuse is the name by which he is known. In the guise of wretched faces, the monsters' own, he under cover bows beneath the yoke of doom and stone to seek the mead. Sulfur all-surrounding his nostrils, he only sniffs the rising honey-spice, cider of the flowers, the air is sweet. He dares the darkness boldly others shy in haught recoil, for he is drawn, missing puzzle-pieces truth exploded in dawn-drear times of broken ice, to know. To know is precious as beauty ; a torch in darkness flicker-cloaks beloved in her naked gown of light. He seeks for her the every hidden spark. And he would drink beneath the billows, softest splash of rippled wave, with her.
A God who shrinks not before the cry of "Devil!" when precious poetry is at stake. Riddles where eyes cannot see and wyrms of flame in peril lurk entice him downwards ; he would know, he would taste, he would toast the world entire with contraband restored to public treasury. Where there is evil, he redeems the drink of light, and leaves the shadow-troglodytes to their wretched fate. Although they too will call him a ghoul abroad in the land, beneath his dignity and position to so descend, he shall descend, and then ascend with wings the wonder-verses lend! For shadow oft entraps the light, and fear surrounds the treasure. There the bold one, unconcerned with superficial rumor, long used to loneliness of righteous rule, will dirty hands as needed so to pluck the lotus-flower root from muck.
And would we love him? And would we call him our own? Then would we flatter with mimicry, wizard-chasing truths through cloudy flames and unseen fears? The wizard falls to rise again, a newer torch in hand, that flicker-flirt enchants the toasting halls with mirth of awe. The beauty hidden in the filth and coal. The precious jewel that none retrieved for fear of seeming sinful. They, the faithless, thought him one with woe-workers! But when the mead was safe, he off-cast ghoulish guise, and let the demons chase the falling mask in torment! Unsullied, there was laughter in the halls, suspense relieved and faith restored. And that was celebration never better earned! We cross the lines, and risk the edge of treason, down in darkness, all to escort wine of wished-for eloquence back home! A wise one welcomes solitude and revile, if it revives the baby from the filthy wash, even innocence none suspected, guised in ash. Those who know, know treason is a ruse, and treasure shall return in hands once blackened.