T'was midnight darkest pervading,
Of radiant day no more,
But prowling, lurking,
A creature before,
That the eyes did not seek,
Nor the ears would hearken,
For only trailing shadows,
With opiate taste and properties,
Clouding, drowsing the heathen,
Before the Lord in Heaven.

And day seemed would,
Forever in an unawakening stupor,
As melancholy fortified and mould,
Midgard in an unforgiving sculpture,
That her breath likening the pale mien,
And her flesh still as the Shadow Tower,
Save the foulest pestilence to be seen,
As the wind blown and decayed the Crystal Flower.

And night would drag on,
As the winds chilled Ranodron,
With lifeless-cold water shattering,
And the burning-hot flames raging,
Over the land, the source of vain mirth,
Leaving a lush pasture of dried bed,
As life vaporized, and hemlock dirt,
Filling the void with death.

Thus Midgard,
Laid wasted for eternity,
As the lush wind of transcendent beauty,
The soul searching,
The life refreshing,
That permeated humanity,
Was charred by infernal volatility,
Gushed from deep down the abyss,
The hellish recesses,
Of horrors unspoken,
Of evil unknown.

But amidst abhorrence,
The fiendish destruction,
Lied here within, the light against damnation,
That the gods would decry,
Mortals' greatest truth,
And the Mystic fruit,
As it swirls up to the sky,
Feather-light it would leap,
That no hatred,
Could thus it be destroyed,
Not liquid voracity it would melt.

For arose thy Heaven,
A mortal,
Of origin unknown to the world,
As the ethereal lightness revealed,
The Dragon in the Golden Armor,
With the sunning sword unsheathed,
Earth would greet in fervor,
As his might swept away destruction,
His majestic steps crushed the Titans.

And the eternal battle swore,
As the forces of angels mustered,
Against the tyranny of devils empowered,
For as Midgard before,
The final struggle between the Dragon and the Serpent,
As their resounding battle cries the sky thundering,
The Heavenly pillars shuddering,
And their unswerving courage earth raging,
The hellish pits blazing,
Till the blade, cracking with lightning,
The very Serpent it sheathed.

T'was midnight darkness decaying,
For light Midgard permeating,
As day awoke from its deep slumber,
And life the humble breath pervading,
As gods' tears secretly flowing,
And the rustic mold slept away,
Humanity showed her way,
Where goodness irradiating wonder,
Of all hellish embraces,
The Angel Arises.

Alan Chong.
© Spring 1998