Accompanied by Oketo – Mordor

The world opened wide and grand, a spectacle to be seen. Life flourished green and grew into big shoes, big wheels, and big you.

So how’d that tyke with spikes, spirit, and stripes end up with so many strikes?

His strife…

I’ve been declared no one, nobody, not a martyr, nor saint, not guru, a remover of darkness, but I feel that I am.

I am a fountain; a spout; the spigot from which you drink the iron I spew into the bowl in front of you, and you choose to choke down that water rich with my blood; a potent potion of power & protection; a sword of swift, viscous steel as spell and shield. Yield; you contained no ignorance.

Now my well has been rung dry; it’s river carelessly breaking over the edge of the vessel you swing, swing, that sweet solution in, and drink it quick.

Far from home, the water will boil, my blood will curdle, the potion will pollute health & sink shields on the next sip; swig.

Again- only should you catch the poison past your lips, a penalty to constitution, as it laps the edge of a half-empty bowl.

Then, you may remember the spigot at your back, which ripped the iron from deep within the earth, and carried it to you in a form fit to fort the familiar ferrum found within your mind, your body, & your soul.

About face, trace & recall that nobody, not a martyr, nor saint, not a guru, a remover of darkness, and I’ll be reminded, too, because I’ve forgotten that which I am not.

Sweep; swing, swing over my feet & send to the wind the black veils I once fought from foreheads; I set where several bowls once sat.