Ablution Of The Dead Poem by Ezio Olubelleau

The mad king is come again!
Yet ye ask if I bring greetings home,
To thy doors I bear no cheer,
For thy king hath taken all I held dear.

Late yestereve, a missive was writ,
To my vanguard, by foul hands it did flit:
"Prepare thee the toll; sacrifice must be made,
For the crown's renewal, an altar we've built."

A hundred souls for his conquest,
My townsmen slain to stoke the pyre.
"Thy folk are fallen; stay thy hand, "
Thus spake your king.

No greeting have I, no tidings to bear,
For my heart lies bound with them that burn.
The mad king is come, and his will is done—
Behold, his reign shall be cursed 'fore the sun.

Go now, bear my word to thy elders' hall,
To thy king and his blade, who would see thee fall:
"His reign is come to end, for—
I am the herald who razes thy town,
I am the tempest that crown thy kings"

Go now, bear my decree to his throne,
"Bring forth the dead ye took of me,
Or take thy sword and meet thy fate—
Listen, return ye what was taken or slain thyself"