Glory at Lulu’s Fire

They say Lulu’s keeps the torches
for the ones who lost their way,
and every scar behind the tankards
marks a vow that did not sway.

⸻

I came down from winter mountains
with the battle in my bones,
past the blacksmith, past the watchfires,
past the weak I’d left alone.

There was storm upon the shutters,
there was bloodwine in the cask,
there was laughter like a war-club
beating ghosts from every task.

⸻

And I heard my own voice whisper,
"Just one cup won’t make you fall."
But my honour struck like thunder:
one cup can take it all.

⸻

Raise the cry, hold the line,
bind your heart to the old pine.
When the bloodwine starts to sing,
do not rise when it roars your name.

Swear no toast to your undoing,
let the dark lose every claim.
I came in hungry for ruin,
but I walked out bearing my name.

⸻

Lulu leaned across the counter,
said, "I know that fight you face.
Some men come to guard their honour,
some trade glory for disgrace."

I could smell the old surrender,
I could taste abandoned fear,
and the boys were pounding war-songs
like they knew I must not hear.

⸻

Lead: Did you come to drown it?
Crew: No, brother, let it pass.

Lead: Did you come to break it?
Crew: No, brother, not for glass.

Lead: Did you come to vanish?
Crew: No, brother, guard your flame.

Lead: Did you come in thirsty?
Crew: Walk out with your name.

⸻

So I ordered something bitter
with no blood-heat in the pour,
kept my hands around that goblet
like a shield braced at a door.

Then I called the one who’d answer,
heard the static, heard the rain,
said, "I fear I’m at the border
of becoming him again."

⸻

And the voice said, "Keep on breathing.
You need not command the year.
Win the heartbeat, win the threshold,
win the road that brought you here."

⸻

Raise the cry, hold the line,
bind your heart to the old pine.
When the bloodwine starts to sing,
do not rise when it roars your name.

Swear no toast to your undoing,
let the dark lose every claim.
I came in hungry for ruin,
but I walked out bearing my name.

⸻

There is pride in hard-fought weather,
warrior grace in shaking hands.
Every sober step is sacred
when you crawl before you stand.

And the river carves its journey,
and the moon commands the sea.
But a soul can leave the tavern
as the soul it swore to be.

⸻

Now Lulu’s fires were fading
when I stepped into the mist,
with a pocket full of tremor
and a battle on my list.

I was not forged by morning,
I was not made pure by song,
but the bloodwine lost the hour,
and the hour held me strong.

⸻

Raise the cry, hold the line,
bind your heart to the old pine.
When the bloodwine starts to sing,
do not rise when it roars your name.

Swear no toast to your undoing,
let the dark lose every claim.
I came in hungry for ruin,
but I walked out bearing my name.

I came in sure I was losing,
but I walked out still the same.
Not untouched, not unbroken —
but sober, by honour, I remain.