blue waters cradle the land where tongues once called fortresses akra i built an akra for my histories manned by no one or those who never were they guard that which wounded or that which built me up on the tallest tower waves a flag with the crest of my family a black sheep guarded by a white lion who may look like Aslan my akra holds my histories while the wind howls through empty corridors the doors are locked i keep the keys hidden only i can plunder my akra and yet it stands, unyielding never stormed by enemy or discovered by ally i built an akra for my histories i built a stronghold with my own hands when it finally crumbles the old ghosts will be vanquished and below where the foundation stones once stood new growth, just budding flush with my histories the dust of my akra enriches the soil like the bones of men dust to dust to dust to akra to bloom
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