A Gosgolot poem
Though we're thankful for his rays,
Which keep the cold of Void at bay,
We dare not offer up our praise
Unto the ruthless lord of day
For fear his burning, staring eye,
That glares upon us from the skies,
Will notice us and make us die,
For he is more than Water's Demise.
Though we're grateful to our Host,
We pray he'll never notice us,
For we've no wish to be burnt toast,
And so we dare not raise a fuss
For fear The Screaming Death will wake
From his howling nightmare song
And cause us all to burn and bake
For doing something all too wrong.
Though we're grateful for his heat,
We dare not give him any prayer,
For if he heard us mewling meat,
He might then burn away the air,
So him don't summon, nor dare you call,
The Monarch of Ashes, not even once!
Just glance in fear at the Eye Which Burns All,
The Daily Reminder of Our Insignificance.
Instead we offer this No-Praise,
Aimed into the NIGHT time sky,
Quietly thankful for all our days,
Grateful that we're still alive.
The only prayer we give the night
Is to our Gods with mortal past,
To protect us from The Lord of Light,
In hopes these breaths won't be our last.
We also pray to our Kin Divine
To hear our constant, daily fears,
And on our love, attention, dine
So we may live a few more years.
And, oh Kindred, do also please
Take away our grief and pain,
Our burdens we need help to ease.
Sahn-kia, Koh Soh La Kohrain.
This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1170700.html
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