The Major heights of the hills stand above all,
But adjacent them:
The minor river that chooses not to run away.
However, shores with pebbles crouch low.
Reijil raised silver blade to split yellowsphere
In blue-eternal-blue indifferent sky:
“By Ektheon’s rhythms, I’ll not allow this.”
Spearheads and helmets beat the cadence;
‘Twent down the dew-grassed hill.
The roars and battle cries bled into a harmony.
Being the war on sound,
This roaring thane-piano was rolling still.
Its melody of sharp bronze tips clacking,
Matched by harmonious religious Fa Sol La.
Zeqikste lamented with harp on pebbly shore
Near river swift running steadily rapid;
‘T could’ve swept them all up:
”Ektheon, my heart beats cacophonous.”
Colorful layers of glowing tatterèd clothes
Were strewn over thin-bone shoulders.
The hand of stretched skin leapt from under purple cloak.
This the stagger-laden song of physics,
The joints wrapped against strings,
Breaking all the scales.
Its white, fiery soul hopping and falling over notes--
Disorderly fractioned cracks and canyons between lines,
With naught—no accompaniment--but breeze.
Ektheon opened the air to appear ‘twixt river and hill
With all the colors moving in him,
Of the rhythm of chaos and rhythm and chaos,
With all harmonies and melodies,
And all cacophonies and senselessful notes,
Said He:
“Stop and listen to the sound of nothing at all; silence.
You feel all life at once then. It is something proud.”
The army of Reijil and bard himself, Zeqikste,
They, on the Major hill and crouching pebbly shores,
Respectively, respectfully,
Prostrated themselves and listened.
And they all, for one, for once,
Were proud to be so miniscule in such a big place.