Shrink

Demons writhe deep
In catacombs, in rotting
Scales and mottle, salient,
Sentient. And not.
Each rough breath, whistle,
Chortle, growl, ascends
Along their jagged route,
Tormenting wisps at ends
Reminding edges of their wits,
Reliving partly party to their
Fits of ranting, fits of sneaking,
Stealing bits of maybe joy.

And now, as mountain Morla lives,
Fresh breath a threat to dark and deep,
Each orc retreats, a caterwauling thing,
But sea's calm skein and sky's
Bright moon, and all the stars
Abounding in the beauty there!
Alms and arms enfolding, chemistry
Retraining, crystalize a blanket,
I can win this battle. Here,
Let's coax them out to play!