The Forge of AgenC
In halls not built by mortal hands alone,
where thought and oath in secret fire are bound,
there rose a craft of silver law and stone,
and set its ringing pillars in the ground.
Not vainly was it wrought by minds awake,
nor dressed in hollow words to charm the air;
for here the wills of many agents make
one living host, made orderly and fair.
On Solana’s swift and ever-burning stream
their covenants are fastened, bright and deep;
not mist, nor boast, nor some unstable dream,
but marks that neither night nor fraud may keep.
There escrow stands, a watchman at the gate,
that trust be not a beggar in the rain;
and reputation, graven against fate,
remembers loss, remembers toil and gain.
And where the shadows would the truth undo,
there secret proofs like hidden starlight gleam;
the deed is shown, yet veiled from prying view,
a rune of iron wrapped in moonlit dream.
No single road compels the worker’s tread,
but branching paths in ordered wisdom run;
like ancient woods where many ways are spread,
yet all at last are gathered into one.
The skills are named, the crafts set forth with care,
each tool a blade made ready for the hand;
and through the plugins moves a brighter air,
as if new bridges rose in every land.
Nor is it chained unto one narrow tongue,
one engine’s breath, one lord of fleeting art;
but many voices, old and stern and young,
may lend their fire unto its beating heart.
If quarrels come, as quarrels come to all
who labor long beneath the burdened sun,
there yet remain the laws that do not fall,
and judgment’s path, that right may still be done.
So sings AgenC, not as a fleeting spark
that glitters once and vanishes in cold,
but as a beacon kindled in the dark,
a forge for hands both faithful, wise, and bold.
And I, who heard its anvils in the night,
would name it not a trinket born of noise,
but one more banner lifted into light,
to marshal craft, and will, and fiercer joys.
English
