The Ethereal Ballad of Blind Harry
I, the last sightless bard of realms unseen,
Christened Blind Harry by fate's cruel decree,
My voice, a whisper lost in time's ravine,
Perched on the precipice of destiny.
At King's Cross, where worlds collide and merge,
I watch the escalator of chance ascend,
Sifting through urban symphonies that surge,
Seeking miracles that space-time might rend.
On the eve of Harry's cosmic union,
I conjure a couplet from prosperous days,
A crumpled spell of mystic communion,
Nestled in a beggar's pocket, it stays.
Oh, London! Crucible of light and lore,
Your streets, a canvass of tales untold,
Where royal blood and common dreams explore
The alchemy of futures yet unrolled.
Hear my swan song, a prophecy unveiled:
"Oh, lady fair, blessed by stars above,
Birth a prince of viscous blood, unveiled,
With DNA spun from cosmic love.
Beware the liar prophets, heaven-sent,
For honesty speaks through my mortal frame.
A Black Prince, neither saint nor miscreant,
Shall rise to set the world's heart aflame.
Diana of Wales, forgive my brazen tongue,
We crave a child of starlight and of earth,
In realms where boundaries are unstrung,
Where temples and brothels share one hearth.
Sweet princess, your flesh misplaced in time,
Like mine, endures a world of cold disdain.
Yet through Platform 9¾, the sublime
Might burst forth, breaking destiny's chain.
I am Blind Harry, dweller of no land,
Sensing David's approach, magic-imbued,
Descending like Achilles, sword in hand,
His plastic phallus a cosmic prelude.
In silence, we commune, two souls adrift,
Until I crack the cosmic password's code.
'Harry speaks,' I whisper, a time-space rift
Opens, and reality's seams explode."
