Saturday, December 12, 2009

Friday, December 11, 2009

A Work in Progress


Of many tales both false and true,
not one's like that I'll tell to you;
an epic in the waking hours,
which filled with blush all size of powers.

No myth nor lore is that I speak of,
'tis real as those who e'er will seek love,
unfurled it did from out the chasm,
whence flows all things that come to happen.

A twisted world was forged in strife,
extinction hung where once was life,
and tension pulsed o'er green and blue,
to be resolved it sought anew.

Our modern times alone could offer,
such a yarn as here was proffered,
rent between such vast extremes,
a world-bygone and a world-to-be.

Surely knowst thou what I speak of,
which those who breathe are never free of,
and coils 'round us first we're born,
and e'er tightens, nite & morn.

A virus boring ever inwards,
tainting all that Nature gives us,
entwined so that we nary see it,
'til futile seems designs to flee it.

Hardened like the sediments,
in every granule, pore, and niche,
and ossifying that which flows,
with normalcy, mundanely rote.

This bane that dare not speak its name,
englufed the world in ice & flame,
and touched all souls without exception,
the question posed: death or conception?

Just as the fire peaks at blue,
so did our race's fate peak, too,
and souls were tried on every side,
both brave & coward countless died.

Let this suffice for introduction,
ere this tale's main form & function,
and to the rest I'll let unravel,
as our heroes' course we travel.