Poésie de l'Étrange ...

Lorsque les cendres des enfers, la nuit, volent avec les vents,
Ensemble s’envolent les ombres oubliées en quête de substance.
Lorsque le souffle du dessous fige ses brumes sur le temps,
Soudain s’alignent les astres dont le dessin termine l’errance.

N’est pas mort qui dans les limbes sommeille
Hebber nihu Ragnar phnong.
L’impatience ronge qui craint le soleil
Hebber Hebber Ragnar phnong.

the Ink-hearted knight

In a time of turbulences that was
Closer to today that one might think,
Lived a knight of another era
A monk of strife, paladin of ink

His father’s blood was as hard as volatile
A ruby river of might so thick
That it consumes itself all the while
Eating them away to pay the lich

From his mother side he got the arts
Crazy, epic, fae-like magic
They followed to the pond the silver mark
Often lost in their own antics

Uncommon child of Sorcerer and Priestess
He was the first to sense the hic
Raised apart from both worlds he confess
Balance was not his major trick


Sitting atop his flameless tower
A vision came to the ink-hearted knight
Across the world he foresaw the hour
When he’ll have to face the night

Hit one day by a sudden vision
A clear omen, a near foresight
Our champion wished a solution
In defeating is inner sprite

Hoping to gain an advantage
He chooses to try to redo, rewrite
What in his being nourishes his rage
He’ll deal with this mess right now, tonight

Was grabbed in a rush
A bag, a sharp axe, a candle, alight
Then traded his tower to the dust
For the dryness of the road and a handful of bugbites