The Sword gleams, golden in the shining light. Held in His steady grip, it waits. My heart takes flight. I can not see through the peircing white. I know not when He will strike. But, the Lord Apollon cuts cleanly, and I fear no necessity.
Khrysaoros, Golden God of the Golden Blade, see this Queen which You have made. Through my life’s Work, the debt’s repaid. Let our love be never staid. So, cut, my Prince! Cut! Release me from this rut!
And so, it falls, while the wind sings. I pray for the fulfilment of our dreams. If You would but cut away these things, I shall be free to spread my wings. I welcome the death of stagnation. Your Will is my fortification.
I delight in You, my Lord. All of You. Even those parts which are rightly feared. Hail to Apollon Khrysaoros, Prince of the Golden Sword!