A child born to test his world
No heralds came before
He walked beneath the shadow sky
Yet opened every door
Held of him a tiny star
Encased in silver locket
Placed by one long vanished far
To fate’s unknowing pocket
Every eve at sunset’s hush
Stars would pulse with light
Spiral flames would softly rise
Into the licorice night
He bore no sword nor wore a crown
Yet kingdoms shaped his way
He spoke his stillness into dawn
Where no others knelt to pray
One road wound across the ridge
Where fate and silence blend
He stood alone for none to see
His will would mark the end
Tales of him were ghostly winds
Bespoken on the breeze
Monk of peace in forests still
He moved among the trees
Shattered myths and lost beliefs
Were echoes of his name
He never struck, yet battles ceased
And fires lost their flame
Heir of stars and mountain dreams
Threads within their weaving
No blood was spilled to win a throne
No war for his soul grieving
Years of stillness shaped his will
No kingdom claimed his hand
Yet when he touched the spiral fire
It answered his command
Light and shadow bowed to him
The bridge began to shine
Merlin’s last and brightest gift
Stepped past the edge of time
No one knew the final truth
Of how this tale would bend
Legends breath a softer name
Sweet Galahad my friend
This circle drawn by all before
Of Grails, of swords, and fire
Not in conquest, not in tears
Just stillness, rising higher
-Hermit King-
