An Ancient Song

  

His mother's story faded softly as he drifted into a deep sleep. The creaking door of his room held a voice of evil. Her tale became a legend, and a distant memory of an ode sung by his father aged with time.  A deep voice began humming a somber song of the North that he knew so well….

Black pines brooding circled mountains; would only a’future be
This world formed from single mount amidst a frozen sea
No man or creature found a'light beneath its crushing breath
Until Creator saw a’fit to cease an endless death
Kingdom’s Mount with snow a'fresh the only land existing;
while newly figured forms below sent a heart too twisting!

Ancient loathing stirred within; a patient resolve a'melt
Fires rushing forth from depths; did forfeit a debt it dealt
All creatures set to watching; filled internal with hopeless dreams
Ash and flame a'ruin blaze; burning sonnet cries and screams
Blue ice, red blood, white bones a'split, spilled, and shatter’d
Frightened teeth a’mashed, smoking skulls a’dash whither’d tossed and scatter’d!

Molten pleasure seeping a senseless froth; spirits manifested
Guttural bruising batters; a’life forever tested
Darkened sky and countless lights did paint exhumed deluges
South, north, east and west, obscured in a’vile's clutches
Peak gave way to a'searing liquid lashing; a’last it's self reproof
Filling the world with a'flame; wailing bursts aloof!

Pain brought forth abounding souls to reconcile;
Faulty dreams of mankind seems de'pleated for awhile
A world teeming with leeching souls; never reaching reveled fate
Writhing molten stone instead; a’draping them with hate
Timeless efforts er’last we all remember;
When anger’s greed coats a’deed a’vim and vile vehemer!

Shaking awake he still grasped Shadow’s reigns…..His head pounding with exhaustion. It felt like yesterday, but a million years were cramed into a fleeting moment. The obliteration of countless villages....so many cities....castles.

As a boy he'd found the remains. He often played and lived among them. His thoughts swept outward into the current moment. He was a few miles from the rim of the wood. Just after the foot hills on an old deer trail and along the waters of Cold River, the oddest and the ancient landscape of his childhood existed. A land left frozen in time. He’d found plate-ware held in cauterized fingers ... people still sitting sat at feast tables for a meal. Their remains were as ice and stone. Fashioned slate shingles from ancient buildings were dashed into countless pieces as fine as dust, covering the ground in a thin layer of ash and larger pieces could be found scattered for miles and miles among the woods.

Obsidian bolders, some the size of the hills themselves, stood seperated only by the trees. The largest spanning well above them into the sky as piers. Others were wide enough to replace the villages they landed on, but all were once a part of the mountain's core. They didn't belong here. Not out in the open, but they were beautiful glass sculptures. Giant black and red fingers reaching ever toward the sky.