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From such great fire, the eternal hearth,

Where such a god labours so strong,

Amongst the rays of glowing sun,

A master clad in hardened robes,

Moulds molten forms in his bare hands,

And feels the burns grow on his skin,

Missing the pain of mortal men.

From muscles grown grow his new forms,

Creating life from mighty mind,

Such workings for a dying world,

To shape to his design.


Against a man of greater rank,

Such bravery from one is sought,

From one of higher order caught,

To stand up tall the young man lives,

Still growing in his godly role,

Yet wary of his bleeding wound.

She, beauty's princess, smiles on him,

With deepest eyes she seeks his soul,

To claim the colour of his life,

To cast on him sweet wonders kiss,

And give herself up whole.


But her good King up oh so high,

Demands a trade for what they want:

A simple service laced with harm,

To dance within the deadly beasts,

And take a place of dominance,

Over the crashing shining hooves,

Through immense size and booming stomps,

Come roars of fire and echoed cries,

To fill the land with terror's scream,

From bronzèd mouth and broken skin,

Their tamer must he be.

The End

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