Lord wind helped the butterfly,
Dazed, enroute, protected under th' sky.
Ancient sun entangled in coloring,
On the yellow and white of its wing.
Gentle nature helped it over the hill,
Now it sat beside the queen on her sill,
The symbol of future on it stirred,
Fortune for the queen it brought; lingered.
Only for the appropriate eye to read,
Of coming days swathed in wicked greed,
For only the goddess, queen of light,
Such was the symbol on the butterfly.
She opened her eyes, glowing;
Butterfly held in her eyes, flowing;
She read the symbol with rabid calm
Hurriedly rose on her arm.
She deciphered no meaning useless,
Calculated the measure of the mess,
Anger bellowing under her breath,
But she only whispered at length.
"Come now black flags, riding;
Come on the cold wicked wind, hiding;
But cross not this land today
Greedy amoral as you stray.
You bringer of miseries
Crowding faceless thieves
I alone will shake your glory
Translate it into a forgotten story".
Thus putting her promise in her heart
She lands her feet, to start
This day; mother earth puts across a smile
She feels the feet for a little while.
Something is spoken between,
No words can define what they mean,
The glorious queen has understood
What mother earth said to her foot.
Thus began the ancient war,
This morning as the forests roared,
The queen gallant, picked her staff,
And called the angels at day's half.
Soft swollen lips, whispered;
The names of the angels, spurred
With the wind, the message flew,
To all the horizons it blew.
Mother earth saw all this power,
From her eyes drew gentle shower,
She alone could foretell,
The future of gods as well.
She alone understood,
How these winged words stood,
The fortune they would bring,
All black flags, soon be crumbling.
The queen of light, Aphrodite;
Gazed around outside;
From her lovely drapes today,
No black flags yet sway.
The chariots of the illuminant sun,
Swift across the horizon,
Rode to match and scale the hour,
Scaled along time's tower.
Labored to take time away,
Memories mounting as they sway,
The present being churned;
Past; all churned glories earned.
Gentle queen, wore white crystal dress,
Magnificently flowing, touched the floor,
Calm and serene, her face bore no stress,
As messenger wind opened her door.
"My lady! I arrive this hour,
I swept aloud, all, too far,
I summoned all to this place,
All shall arrive in much haste.
Angels wowed through all the spheres,
All made allegiance, and so their heirs;
Even now their horses trod this way,
They shall arrive at the half of day".
Soft pink lids dropped over her eyes,
She pictured her words in sublime skies,
Resounding and echoing, away and afar,
Its meaning trailing; a shooting star.
Followed secretly the silence of wait,
The coming of the seven angelic troops,
Sun’s chariot trod at stupendous gait,
Lord Wind and Queen await the sound of hoofs.
