A Centaur's Song

Beneath the sun that kissed the pines, where whispers traced the mountain lines,
A centaur stood, a sight to see, with mane of fire, and heart half-free.
His hooves upon the earth held fast, the wind against his muscled chest,
And in his hand, a shaft of fate, an arrow poised for destiny's gate.

The fletching, feathers of a hawk, with eyes that pierced the dawn's first walk,
The shaft, a birch from storm-kissed peak, where spirits whispered, shadows bleak.
The tip, a moonstone, sharp and cold, with moonlight trapped from ages old,
A weapon forged of earth and sky, to pierce the night, to make tyrants cry.

For shadows loomed on Gladewood's edge, where whispers wove a creeping pledge.
The Harpy Queen, with talons keen, had claimed the sun, a monstrous sheen.
Her wings, like clouds across the land, had choked the light with her command,
Leaving the world in twilight's grip, while whispers danced on poisoned lip.

The centaur, Cain, his name in stone, with fire in eyes, was not alone.
His brothers near, in stoic line, their bows held tight, their purpose shine.
They were the Wardens, sworn to keep, the balance where dreams slept so deep.
And Cain, the first, the arrow's hand, would face the Queen, her dark command.

He drew the string, a tautened chord, a silent vow, a whispered word.
The moonstone sang, a keening note, as dawn's first rays began to float.
He aimed, not at the feathered blight, but at the sun, the shadowed night.
For light, once freed, would pierce the lies, and break the Harpy's cruel disguise.

With thunder's crack, the arrow flew, a silver streak against the blue.
It carved through air, a comet's trail, toward the sun, through whispered hail.
And as it struck, a burst of light, dispelled the Harpy's cloak of night.
Her wings unfurled, a monstrous shriek, then fled the light, her reign too weak.

The sun, freed from its prison veil, kissed Cain's brow, a golden hail.
His brothers cheered, the land reborn, the whispers fled, the shadows morn.
The arrow, spent, fell to the ground, a symbol cast, where heroes crowned.
And Cain, the Wardens by his side, stood in the light, with purpose tied.

So sing the bards, of arrows flown, of centaurs brave, and shadows blown.
For in that deed, by sunlit glade, a hero stood, his promise made.
And when the whispers rise again, a shaft of dawn shall pierce the night,
For freedom's call, in every land, where centaurs stand, with arrow in hand.


Line Count: 32 Lines
Epic about a Centaur
Written for: "The Lair Contest (Mythical Creatures)"