From the distant burning ashes
Past the dragons hoards and stashes
Through the streets and nearby sashes
Flies the incandescent Hand.
Over distant deeps and thunder
By the stars who ‘hold her wonder,
Down the ladder, o’er and under
The ofttimes quiet desert sand.
Ever rising, ever dying
Ever crying, always flying
Never stopping, ever sighing
Over some forgotten land.
She is from first to never ending,
From days of lore to times of rending,
Ever with her golden sending,
Off to do her fatal errand
Worlds of wonder, without tire
Have ever been her heart’s desire.
Here she comes to give her fire
To make her never ceasing stand.
Dead grey trees
dark red faces;
Forged through swords
Black with blood of countless races.
Cold as ice and black as night
He dwells in lands of undead fright
His eyes far from the heat filled light
That gives all creatures outer sight.
His sight is much more deadly, see;
He molds the dark to view all ye.
The black becomes as thick as sea,
Telling him the shape of me.
His horrid goal, to black all light,
And come to us from his True Night
There’ll be no way for us to fight
This final great display of might.
Only one can halt this onslaught,
Only one, unfully taught,
Can thwart the black one and his lot
And save the blood of Man.
By Sarah Pearson
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