No Vain Death (1978)

Below your walls, your people helpless lie,
Their minds are far away, their bodies slumber.
I raise my staff, and flames burst sudden high -
Your innocents will die in countless number.
Here comes the prince, he draws his dirk and cries,
O wicked monk, why ever did I pry
You from your land of dreams and darkest umber!
You fool, say I, to think I could forget
Who took my secrets, dignity, and soul,
And fettered me with being less than whole?
My blood upon your sword, I'll not regret.
Although I die, you still are in my debt.
Now strike! Though be what bitter end this is,
And weep: my vengeance for a lifetime missed.

Copyright 1980 Offworld Press
May not be reproduced without permission

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