They see you.
Thousands of eyes from the darkness,
Beyond the barrier, the bashing, bearing down upon you with a heartbeat
Of hallowed halls.
This is the world beyond.
Is there a woe attached?
Like you’ve come to know?
Like you once were.
You don’t focus on other lives.
You focus on what you are.
What you were.
What could/can you control?
Nothing. Everything.
The world could be yours at a snap of your fingers.
But you saw something else,
In all these people.
You paid the price,
Of praying at the wrong altar.
On your knees, you felt the blood seep
Through your fingers and onto the grooves of stone.
Felt it crack.
Remembered the feelings of foundation forced,
Cleaved into pretty little pieces.
Those too slipped through.
They see you.
They’ll speak to you when you enter their place of worship.
The altar, at which they pray
Is one you cannot…
No, you will not abide.
Maybe you’re wrong to do so, but the gods can be subjective.
Wouldn’t you be too?
They see you.
They’ll speak to you.
What do you pray to in a place of worship like this?
And you’ll give the answer she did.
That we are stronger together, friends and family,
Lovers and those who were lost and found,
All together?
No woe in any world can put you down.
(If you’re going to carry this weight into war?)
(… might as well let it tilt the holy halo above your head, Otolin.)
(… when the time comes, of course.)
