The four pillars of the earth they were
before Atlas held the world in stir
most powerful but unknown they were.
To south stood the ram as a costellation
at the sky he appeared, Crius was his name.
To north stood an oracle with unceasing foresight
and wisdom, Coeus he was called.
To west stood the spear, the craftsman. Life and death
he wielded, Iapetus the piercer he was called.
To east stood the light, the first light, the one above all,
the father of sun, moon and dawn. The mighty Hyperion
that none dared to cross.

We all walk on the same earth Gaia
we all sail on the same sea Oceanus
see the same sky Uranos
the same sun Helios
the same moon Selene
and welcome everyday the beautiful dawn of Ios.
All held in the arms of the mighty Atlas.

Here i lie on mount of smoldering rock
here i wonder in poems of silverlight.
Of gods and titans i lilt
of elves and mountain folk i write
of nymphs and elven maidens
i play this lyre
of forests and deep blue seas i dream.
Last of my name
last of my kin
lost in my lay.

The room is dark
all so quiet
maybe too quiet.
From window's frame
i stare sky and stars.
All so quiet.
Not a single breath
not a single soul
could be heard.
The street is empty.
No wind blowing just the sight
of flickering lights from
the mountain's top far away.
I don't know why sometimes i like this silence
i don't know why sometimes i find peace in it.

I know now that it wasn't you
who fashioned such noose.
It was them, those dark abominations
who fled before the stars of Uranus.
Remember!
We are not weak!
Madness is such a hard thing to define
which makes it such an easy label
to affix to one's enemies.
It's not madness to fight for our right
to exist!
It's not wrong to make a stand and
wake up from the slumber of their lies
to the beautiful dawn of Eos!

Haunted by grief of loss
as a soul trapped
inside a broken mirror
that tried desperately to scream
and beg solely through the tears
that slid down a darken face
cold and very much alone.

Now tell me i am wrong
now listen to the steel sing
let courage and fury fill your heart.
Kicked to the floor
now rise anew.
Alas for victory is here
alas for the gods return.
Remember for the scars run deep
remember for the scars may never heal.
Now rise at the sound of the horn
and gods demand revenge.

He is the brother i never had
he is the friend from far distant shores.

He is a writer a poet of life and wonder
a warrior worthy of Valhala
a hero worthy of Olympus
a soul worthy of Tir na nog from Celts.

Wildman he is called in my book
of elven folk grandmaster smith
which Hephestos himself teached
of ancient long forgotten craft.

A glass of old greek wine i raise
and wish to him Happy new year.
My gift to him my humble poem
my gift to him my gratitude
for being my brother.
Gratitude for being an inspiration.
Alas, for he is a man worthy of all
the blessings of the Gods.