The winds from the woods beckoned him
Spiced with the scent of wilderness.
But all that he could hear were
Chants of prayers
And ringing bells
And the clang of the rusty iron chain
That manacled his feet.
A prisoner in fetters,
He trumpeted in fury.
But the god that resembled him,
Sat smugly inside the shrine,
Ignoring his cries of agony.
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