King Atop the Hills of Julian

On the Hills of Julian

Snake writhing in the winter cold,
Julian, ice and stone protector of Rome,
so  falsely titled the end of the world.
You are conquered.
Shamed beneath my grinding heel.

Look to the West,
to show Romans my mother's love.
Blue scars crisscrossing eye to cheek.
You say barbaric? How blind.
Return to yourselves, oh Romans,
to your baths of curdled milk and honey.
Gyrate silk folds to make animals of broken children.
Shake your fist, bangled gold, at the Hawk.
How fat and tasty you look to he who nods slyly.

For peace, this cub lived among you, but not of you.
For life, Astur's son obeyed you, but did not love you.
For war, the Hawk learned your ways, to be above you.

Look to the East,
yellow orbs, slit piercing
towards my fiefdom bourn of lacking,
the openness, green rolling.
Astride, as the wind through birch trees,
embracing warmth of Aldabaran's rising light.
Hooves glide the banks of the Danube, thundering.
Hidden shadow of the Steppes,
Cleansing taint, by will of my ancestors' icy waters.

Home, yet too far, too long gone.
Freedom's warm breeze collides a chilled soul,
to set the tempest rising.

Snake called Julian, of those conquered
you are but the first.
We will ride on stunted ponies,
We will ride with horn rimmed bows.
Blackened arrows of the multitude, blessed by our ways,
will imbibe upon fools the wisdom of the plains.
We will ride on stunted ponies,
We will ride with horn rimmed bows.
As debris shattered in the storm, crushed leaves on the autumn wind,
prey will be stripped of arrogance.
We will ride on stunted ponies,
We will ride with horn rimmed bows.
The Huns are coming.