White Thane

Barren lie our homes, our women Whilst our children fall ill Idle lie our men, our fields In the shadow of White Horse Hill This is how it was once How it had been for the decades before And maybe even centuries Fields were tilled, then crops borne Homes were built and families grew Children nurtured until they bore their own Our vast fields ran further than any eye could hope to see And their harvests left no table bare No matter the storm’s ferocity Or the how sharp the teeth of the coldest wind None went without safety or warmth Just as our currency was truth Just as our courts let any man's mind be spoken And for the longest of times We never knew of any other way Every man, woman and child here today Knows of love only through stories and tales From those old enough to recall but it has long left us It is a fool’s gold that makes rich a man now And your truth will buy you only the lonely walk To our hungry gallows Few are the children born of love or family Their place taken by spawn of rape and of pillage The word of few is law, those fluent in lie and half-truth Theirs is a poetry of deceit

Submitted by johnmansley — Feb 14, 2026

To sol a thane. None so revered as the orchard keeper Whilst his cargo sways heavily. See now, he's forgotten. Like all the mute ones when bellies fill. See now as I spit only contempt for you For all that weave only from second hand passions. Mine is the heart that skips not a single beat for all your kind. I am not your kin, I'm not your peer. You that bear not a thought of your own making.. Ye in panic and ye in retreat Ye who sing laments of sufferings not yet born. Your minds collected are unfit to engage even one of ours. Ye who roar surrender in unison With yet even a whisper of carnage to be anointed. The wolf with lamb's heart falls in shame. Having died tasting no blood but his own, having died a coward.

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Nov 14, 2025