Chronicle 1, Poem 4: The Four Thrones of Sky

Like clouds torn wide on storm-bright days,

The Day Court spilled forth in golden blaze.

A bright court of sound and living light,

That roared and laughed and reveled in flight.

Then through the skies all golden arrayed,

Came forth Ilios, King of the Day.

He laughed — and it thundered across the sky,

And rolled and rang where gild' arches fly.

He drove a chariot wreathed in fire,

On flaming wings that pulled ever higher.

Eos of Dawn — new sky paths he did rent,

While the queen, his sister, to earthward was bent.

Oh, Queen Marici, Great Lady of Day!

How tender her light! How gentle her stay!

The beasts of the field, the plants of the dirt,

Lean in to her hands and cling to her skirt.

All growing things toward her warmly inclined,

For she loved the green, and green loved her in kind.

But, my dear listener, there is not only Day,

For Night is a treasure in its own special way.

A darkness so vast it seems empty of light,

Yet scattered with stars burning soft silver white.

Like a summer night breeze drifting gently o'er skin,

Raising goose flesh from wonder you feel deep within.

A contemplative court of volitional grace,

Their patient stillness belies depths to their base.

Deep in the realm where tender mem'ries are cast,

Stood Aydin, Night's King, Shepherd of the Past.

Each sphere in its place, delib'rately framed,

With a smile he would graze them, each known by name.

But Moon has two faces, one sister, one brother,

Twin halves, both made to complement the other.

Where the height of the realm looks on Night's vast expanse,

Where each mirror is a door with an earth-side entrance,

She knelt in the Dreamscape, gracious Lady of Night,

Selene was the name of who wove sand into light.

For the world she created, the sleepers consoled,

For the queen was the Weaver of Dreamlight of old.