By: Sir Iawen PennShivering stars radiate over wispy sand
This frigid world was once aglow
Hands once soft now hardened
He knows that soon it will start to snow
Face once smooth now weathered
eyes listless- waiting in silent reprieve
He once was a man of honor He was once a man of life
And now he is neither, for he is dead tonight
But honor does not die with him, just the breath of life within
A man who once questioned the wicked things and barely lives
As a 'good man' in the eyes of the public... but who cared what they thought?
Not him. Running, again thoughts of who he was intercede
his vision as the final words are spoken to his love.
Does he realize that he is yet dead? That he is a ghost? An apparition?
Would he make the same choice again if it meant living like this?
Then pain swells in his breast, cherry red drops fall like rain underneath the full moon
Praying for only a flesh wound the sight however holds no promise
collapsing into the dirt mounds, staring up to the sky,
coldness seeps into his bones as his soul is readily taken,
greedily devoured by the ones he hates, for the one he loves truly.
Truly, he loves her. Loved, now.
Time slows to a crawl and one last thought flickers in his dying moment
her kiss that dissolved his honor and made it whole again, her kiss that he still longs for.
The pyre is set, the fire is ready. We take in the torch and begin to steady ourselves to the task ahead. No one wishes to do this, but we must.
A tale to be told, Soaring the blue skies and black nights
A story to unfold with our loyal crew and the privileged few
over tears, bread, muffled sighs and cries of 'Why'.
As we burn away with one last sigh as we leave our loved ones
You and I
The blaze is standing brave as a knight as we are off from Creathorne on this very black night
War unlocked by a key, Dark.
One red star shone, Santiago.
So far away, Deimos
In much dismay we're hit by the heat and a light
And unfortunately we've lost this fight. But we won't lose the others.
All of us here who can hear, let them hear this if nothing else:
We vow not to lose any others.
Our minds are free, free at last, forever and ever
Broken from their red cast, we seek to finish the work you started.
To fix our mistakes without the 'I told you so's'. Ignore them we shall,
for you did. You always did. We are so proud of you, for you, about you.
The Order of the Red will finish this or be finished themselves.
We understand this... but he understood it better than any of us.
You will be missed; you shall be judged, and never found wanting.
You have arisen to the point that we only dream about some day.
And some day soon, be it months or years, give us an ear,
for we will be calling for you to light our own way home from the darkness.
(Penned/Transcribed after the Funeral by Dame Sir Freesia Den'ier)
Created by Freesia Den'ier (Bethany Tozier) at 09-13-09 09:35 AM
Last Modified by Freesia Den'ier (Bethany Tozier) at 09-13-09 09:35 AM