The Hall

There is a hall far in a blessed vale
In the world of Dream, in the land of Metaphor
In that hall, each wall is courtesy
It is roofed in peace, with comfort for it's floor
Faraway dark places bred enemies of that hall
Who slew the guardians
And only I remain


The fields of the vale grow golden laughter
Which is baked into friendship and sweet joy
The hall dines on a rich stew of wisdom
In which the spice of play finds employ
The wine of freedom is the hall's chief drink
But the people in that hall take tea
That is tolerance; making a healthy balance
Between ordinance and liberty
Far away, where the light of the hall is unnoticed
Arise despoilers
Who love the smell of burning fields

But after a meal comes a bowl of affection
That revels as it passes the lips
All indulge in great mouthfuls of the moment
Which some prefer with honeyed hips
Faraway dark places wake those who
Find the honey offensive
And a stain

For them, laughter is a reeling smoke
That is savored with cruelties cough
Each of them dines on only one thing
Which they take from a common trough
Some feast only on the moment
Which they choke back only with wine
Some drink only the water of self-restraint
And it is tyranny on which they dine
The vale entices and the hall offends
The people born under the unwhole sun
They have killed those who stood between the hall
And the desolation their labors have won


Huntsmen and magi and singers of songs
All fell under the blades
Of the tyrants, and their thugs
And only I remain

I will fight those who invade
I will fight to guard that hall
I will fight, though to a loss
I will fight until I fall