Raziel's Child
If you look at the world today, you see desolation.
Gaea's face is hidden beneath the hand of homo sapiens.
Its fingers grasping, covering her beauty for the sake of survival.
Against all odds, green pores of her visage have battled on.
If you look at the world today, you will find them.
America, in all its wealth and prosperity, preserves these beauty spots.
Tucked away in the pocket of the unsleeping beast of Manhattan,
Lies an unruffled patch of green velvet.
An unrelenting Elysium in the pits of New York's Tartarus.
On a fine spring evening, one may observe nothing extraordinary.
Many are blind to the magical world that lives here, they care not to find it.
One bright soul, eyes unhindered to this magic, pads softly into this world.
He knows of its secrets and knows how to find them.
He finds the most splendid tree in this world, and settles under its arms.
Golden orbs closed and mind in peace, he waits for them.
They who prosper, unrestrained, to keep this world alive.
They who watch, hesitant, accessing his peaceful impression.
They who see, as black as words on paper, the Angel's mark.
He knows they see him and waits, calm and tranquil as a pond's surface.
They, with wings and fins alike, slowly come out to play.
He opens his eyes, the color like that of a king's crown, and sees them.
The world around him fills suddenly with light.
The pond to his right, still before, now moves with a slinking, sinuous grace.
He sees the glow of incandescent scales, shining with a spectrum of colors.
The occasional face, hidden under the surface, shyly meets his.
The trees around his are alight with the sparkling of tiny wings.
The fair folk of the woods, blessed with the beauty of Gaea herself.
He lets out a breath, feeling the magic flowing, connecting him.
Linking every creature and spirit of this small, but wondrous world.
Uniting them in their fight for the survival of their Elysium.
He has come to help them, and they are grateful.
Raziel's child has come to sustain us all.