It begins by a call of silence,
where no rain foregoes the skylight,
just as no wind foretells the violence.
But amid the bonfires,
there is a flicker of a light in the middle of the night.
Thus, silent vows are made in the roundelays,
where all friends and foes share desires,
so may the ones they love be spared.
But dusted cinders don't make for good crossways,
for all alliances struck in ashes,
in the downpour will be stifled,
and many will leave unprepared.
When the first blue strike is seen,
forget not that its sound later unleashed,
no sooner can hail or many souls their men would fail,
and many tears their bodies would clean.
Instead, watch as the men try to build a house,
right under the dark sky's blue horizon,
for with their intoxicating dread released,
they shall create nothing if not a syphon,
where all evil will go to play spouse.
And in the next make-believe halcyon days,
the ones above will see nothing but men's blood.