Child of a Radiant Land

There? There the melodies are all frought with light,
And the buildings are made of crystal shining clear.
Nothing exists of the wonders all wrought by night,
Or the troubles that the rest of the world holds dear.

You don't want me to say that, don't want me to compare?
Well, so be it. The bedsheets are soft, the night is warm,
And it might be well for once to talk of my homeland as fair,
Together in this bed in the wake of passed fire and storm.

Very well, then. Let me close my eyes while I remember
The loveliness that has no other purpose than to be loveliness,
The sunsets as red as this fire's last smoking couched ember,
And the beauty that nothing has been able to replace or redress.

There are trees growing in every imaginable place there,
Dancing to the touch of the softest golden-green breeze,
Dancing with leaves in the wind, grace in their hair,
While their voices rise and fall like murmur of divine seas.

In the distance one can, just barely, see the edges of mountains,
But such harsh rocky slopes have little place in those hallowed halls.
I prefer to remember the running, the silver fish-filled fountains,
The indoor foaming warm pools, the music of bright waterfalls.

In rooms hallowed of forest, hollowed out of the forest primeval,
Are hidden chimes that sing music at the touch of the light,
Hidden somewhere in flowers that sway, lovely, disheveled, 
From the beat of brilliant red and blue wings as macaws take flight.

There are the fall of voices, both elven and bird, mostly cockatoos,
For they have loved our music since dawn of time, and imitate
With even more facility than the mynahs clad in their black-blues.
There sing voices that have never learned the meaning of hate.

Did you know that in the language I once spoke in my homeland
The words for "garden" and "home"--that is, house--are one?
I never understood how such concepts broke in my hand
For many years after I learned to walk under wider sun.

I am sorry. You did not want me to say anything to compare.
But I cannot help it, just as I cannot help but think your eyes like stars.
I remember the beauty, but to me this outside world is fair,
And I would give up my homeland again for the possession of scars.

Oh, do not look at me like that! You know exactly what place I claim.
You know that I am an assassin, though a child of a radiant land.
Just because I am elven does not mean there is grace in my name.
I can wield steel, and that means I hold loveliness in my hand.

How could I forsake beauty, you ask me? Well, Elwens are obssessed.
My people, irritating as I find them, are at least not that. I am an elf.
I have never made any secret of the dark powers that I profess.
I carry loveliness, but am not changeless; I mingle the best of both in my self.