Lore, Poem, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

Dawn to dusk and back.

Upon the shoulders of Gods came man to the world.

Nurtured by nature and hardship, and inspired by acts and deeds of those far greater, he poured his being to grow.

And grow he did in words then deeds, in bravery and stoic form.

And so did he bring with him his kind from the dark, and around great fires they fed.

From naked and nerved stumbling in darkness to sharpened swords and fires to banish the dark,

The world became formed to his will.

And so did the Gods then smile upon them, for they grew as children to elders.

And so did they make great towers and walls, and moments to Gods and their heroes.

So passed the generations of them, growing greater from each challenge that came.

But every dawn will see its dusk, every storm will pass in the end.

And forgotten became the stories and memories of heroes and Gods who once led those men.

And soon the fruits of such labour were eaten away, their seeds becoming delicacy alone.

So when the fields would come to be barren, and the food for each day must be bought,

There came famine and hardship and luxury to few, but those who had wished to keep.

And those who had not were pit one against the other, to ensure that all things would stay.

Some tried to bring the world to what it was, where they laboured together as one.

But others with blessings, from those who had all, fought so all could come and blood be forsaken,

For they could not imagine the old world was true.

And so came collapse, as one can imagine, the world fell to chaos and lies.

And down came man, from a place among Gods to be cursed lest he stand up and act.

For it is all a test as the heroes would face, to perform the impossible for good.

And cast out by word, by sword and by fire, the horrors that grow within the very walls of those men.

And one day to know, that he should shed a tear, for the blood of his fellow man was corrupt.


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