Many are those who court design,
Their plans plotted to detail fine.
'gainst Creation, all life and loam,
Dismantling hope to build a throne.

These fools rush in to break their spears,
Scramble to blaspheme Celestial Spheres.
Stumble o'er foot to styme a tide,
Tied to headwaters birthed divine.

For those washed out by this raging flow,
'fore you return to lair below.
Know that arms open await in the East,
For a penitent's heart, a seat at the feast.

Lo, when you come and cleanse away,
Detritus accrued from truth decay.
Turn fresh eyes towards Her hallowed Light,
Delight in defiance of long night.

And if I'm not amoung you in paradise,
Roadside, a sign bears my device.
Reads: 'Within the mortar cleaving this blessed path's stones,
Are the ashes of Creations' enemies, and old Blonk's bones'.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Scarlatan, in the year 970 AF.