A Prince of Grace

~A Kindred’s Pride
*********
Do not birth what you cannot live. A sound code for its fathomless depths, and as potent for its mad implications for what one might heel. Slaves to impersonation, desperates within, loudly infidel without so much as a reputation…and thus, forever nothing. Not to mention those who do not live, but prey, on those who would be their opposites.

Such honorable men as these, friends of our great estate, securely fashioned and alive, sworn to shale whilst affronted by their loyalty, startled by the royal shambles, and staked among the gods, boasting their inheritance as such with their valor. Wingless, spineless, unto them, by me, and we, they who’re named as cowards, they shall be met. And for whom I choose to accept, brings upon their deaths, I shall rise beside thee and share my power.

Alas, beloved Kindred, trussed as noble, which you are indeed, however not only labeled but truly my friends as thus. Stand with me now, and let us brave our virtues, so set to our task under a most benevolent god, as is our family, embraced, for we have each other.

Stagger beneath me, for it is no beginning but your end of contemplation, and you hesitate with which you believe that befits your rank. It is not so, afore I invite thee to rise. My companions, both new and old, we will bequeath the world by our steps. This visionary world we upkeep, for no other grander purpose but to talk of divine right, which is in our grandest opinion, awful…

Hence we leave our posts knowingly, and sentient to a greater void which keeps us distracted, from a petty ambition same as men. And so we leap, and from within that black whole nigh unmapped but for our imaginations, we incline with neither regret nor fear, finding our own private haven, and our mighty destiny.

*And finding amongst my fellow Kindred, every hue of pale blue, and caster marks of white, their the streaming wind lifts a numerous tress of gold and silver, and every one of us go highlighted, in swathing colors and each unique. Gilded light fashions our wings and fissions to our skin this same light, and thus we might extend our forms, a beatific power to which lends us our dignity. I’m a proud King, a Prince of grace*.