Lore, Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

The new tale.

The young do not remember a time of heroes and kings who fought for something other than simply law and convention.

To them such things are as alien as meditating by the elements, or as the case often is away from farm and forest, even the very making of the homes in which they live, the clothes upon their backs, the origins of their very meals.

So saddening it is, so angering it inevitably becomes, those so detached from the world from which they once came. Even if that is a line which stretches back beyond their own births or that or their parents or beyond.

It is sad because tradition is lost, misremembered or purposely made without point or no deeper than lines on a map or the tongues of ancients.

It is angering, as inevitably tradition and culture therein will become known as useless and superficial by those who know nothing of it, but are just as certain in their convictions as any who studied or listened to the words and works of Sages and elders alike.

The young know not of such heroes or kings who are not enemies of new so-called heroes who live upon law and convention. For the old has become wicked, and the new full of virtue.

It matters not what lies or omissions are made, what matters is the new heroes must conquer what was. For without, what is will seem as illegitimate, the product and weavers of illusion who cannot supply or maintain without those who live by those old ways, with memories of old heroes and kings.

But that must always be shielded from the young. For the danger always grows where power would concentrate, that someday, someone might wake from the dream, or look out in wonder of what lay beyond and remember by tale or blood.

And so in remembering, become the new tale which bases itself on the old, and tears the illusion of what is right now, asunder to crash to the ground.


7 thoughts on “The new tale.”

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