I.

The Prince of Iron ruled upon the Wind,
    in his left hand a victory standard,
    each god's symbol affixed thereto.
In his right hand, a sword of Earth's Heart.

Heaven lay deserted of spirits,
       gods held in Iron's wand, the God
       sleeping a thousand years.
But even a god may not find a night's rest.

II.

For just as Iron had let his lids fall,
    a luminosity poured on to his brow,
    from the Sacred Fire from whence All was forged.
And the brilliant white passed his steel grey in pain.

There issued forth a soul from the Void,
      and Iron watched motionless.
      His heart had been locked for many Cycles --
Immune to the well holding World's pain.

Iron watched the passing of being of the soul,
     and saw it as brilliant,
     crystal-clear and untouched by human trial.
A smile wrinkled his stone face, and the World seemed
  young once again.