Shall Harmony reign, yet in his wake
Lie severed heads whose fortunes bore
Craven lies and notes of strife
But also those whose scales returned to balance with their vengeful roar
For each great circle ‘scribed thereof in single voice the headless spake:
There was once a man who wished to hide from the truth. He gathered his flock and said unto them: “See how we cower in servitude before death and shadow. Do you not wish to escape this tyranny?” They did, the flock replied, but they could see no path, no way by which they might escape. So the man gathered the clouds from the sky and wrapped them about his people, that when the agents of death came to find them, they encountered only mist and lies. The man then swept his flock and his clouds both to a peak rising high above the land, and from there, they ascended to the heavens.
There was once a man who realized the world was a lie. He saw what the Man of the Clouds had wrought. He saw that what was real had been split in twain. Others beheld the city in the clouds and declared it fantasy, an escape from reality. But this man questioned: Was the world they had escaped any more real? Was it so in any way that mattered? He thought to the lies the world had told him, that when men and women ceased to be they ascended to Heaven or rested beneath the earth, in the domain of the Dead Queen they had left behind, but he had ascended and, in so doing, made true that great lie. But though he could have rested in his Heaven, he could not avert his gaze from the tiny fracture now etched in halcyon Truth. Through it he beheld a churning darkness, a Deep of ill portent which he knew would one day come crashing through. Yet he did not recoil. He did not wail in terror or seek to forget what he had seen, for in that Deep he saw salvation, a beautiful and terrible reunion of reality’s glassy shards. So he smiled upon it and mad his preparations, for to perform his miracle of one only thing, to link once again the Heavens to the Deep, he knew he must descend and evoke his argument below the anesthetic comfort of the clouds.
There was once a man who sought to complete the circle. He knew well from the river beneath his feet. For it to flow, the reservoirs in the lands above must be emptied, struck, their discordant greed resolved. He knew that memory, like water, lacked persistence. With time its form would denature. It would evaporate, would become mists and clouds and false shapes therein, once again to fall upon the stagnant reservoir. He knew that were he to maintain the circle, ensure that the lake of discord always emptied in Harmony, his memory could not falter. The circle could not fall victim to time. He could not fall victim to time, so he separated himself from it, became a terrible grudge which remembered in cinder instead of dewdrops, that discord the world over might be met by righteous Vengeance and inevitable Harmony.
From these three came two and two
And circles stretched from sea to sky
To the Gyre did Seven headlong run
Then all the world
That’s why, that’s why