Richard strummed his harp,
Filling the streets ahead with music incomplete,
Albert ran his bow across his violin's supple wooden frame,
Each string shook as if startled, bringing sound to music's playground.
While Christopher placed wet lips above his flute's tone hole.
Breathing in to bring balance to the foreground.
Together each element cultivated sound unmistakable,
Someone had opened her tomb, broke her free from silence,
Sharin walked the earth once more.
Faces turned to observe the seven humble performers,
Armed well with verse and musical talent.
Rick watched with an arrow ever ready.
He'd only need think and it would follow,
Passing through and through.

Paul was the fourth to appear,
Wielding a pole-arm he'd made from,
Fallen spears modified to remove,
Deceit from naked steel, given new clothes,
Of black and red.
Traveled four nights and sixteen hours,
To Sharin's trust, a place inhabited by craftsmen,
Blacksmiths of good report.
Fashioned him a weapon of last resort.

Kevin stood by Johnathan's right side,
Inches from an axe covered by lambskin,
Dried and made in their old home,
An orchard, orphanage and music school,
All wrapped up in a bow of optimism,
Protected by a single dagger imbued,
With all there is to live for.
He was shown how malicious melodies,
Corrupting sound deviled by malice,
Words stolen from Sharin's lips,
Could be silenced by the real thing,
Etched onto his runed blade,
Written into its steel frame,
Handwritten by Sharin herself.

Johnathan led the group,
Resting his protection upon his right shoulder,
Though his real defense lies behind his throat,
In a small chamber whose power can stop mountains,
From crashing down around them.
Rick held his bowstring taut, at the ready.
A hymn in his head kept it steady.
Loosed with a thought, it would sail rather than fly.
Towards a target of his choosing.
Since days spent practicing beside brothers and sisters,
Granted heavenly gifts and strength fought for,
With Sharin's support he made himself a threat,
To their next meal.

A castle seated around scarlet air,
Colored by evil wine.
The sweetest defilement of soul and heart.
Gates that held strong against blue upon gloves.
Would they part for song's grace?
Gladly times uncounted.
Sharin's glory need never ask for admittance,
Forever would she and her children,
Hold a ticket to the show.

Sharin taught us never to cry,
That we could continue living despite it all,
Our lives were ended by war but that only meant,
We'd have to make our own replacements.
She gave us all an education, filled our moments with life,
Tear drop apples were always close at hand,
They wept not for themselves but rather they,
Shed excess joy.

Sharin bore no children.
Yet mothered those not her own.
They flocked to her songs,
Seeking escape from Orphanhood,
Sleeping beneath a tree whose branches.
Hid them from nightmares and arms torn away,
Floating in a sea of Venom.