The man held my hand and asked me a question,
"Why do you have such a bleak expression?"
The answer was simple, or so I had thought;
Through countless harsh battles I'd valiantly fought
And over long distance I'd ridden to find
That all whom I'd loved had left me behind.
I opened my mouth to express my lament
And words of regret poured out in a torrent:
I'd never once told all the ones that I loved
How much they had done, how grateful I was;
I'd now never get to watch them grow old;
I'd missed out on all of the stories they'd told.
But as I let loose this tirade of self-pity,
I let my eyes roam and take in this great city.
The words, they trailed off into half-hearted sighs
And I just told the man to look into my eyes.
My eyes hold the secrets of what I have done
And this they withhold from no one.
The past, it is there, but this also is true:
The future is waiting in those seas of blue.
I pulled away sharply and fled to the streets
While others more fortunate turned down their sheets.
The city has spoken, her call I must heed
For I am her champion, a dying breed.
For all I remember and all that I am
Is the hope and the memory of this blessed land.
Material am I, yet not as is man;
I'm land made in man's shape, my city's right hand.
To the one man who cared I could not reveal
The source of my hurt that I'd so long concealed:
My love was the forest outside of the gate
That those who had lived in the city did hate,
And when they no longer could live near her shade
They took her from me with sharp hacking blades.
My love was the river than ran through the square
And flooded it yearly when rains swelled it there.
To keep her in check they buried her deep--
She's now locked beneath six feet of concrete.
My love was the alley that sheltered the strays,
Old toms and young pups used to sleep there some days.
They came in one night with guns and with nets
And those who were lucky became someone's pet.
But those who were not were put in the ground
Or tied up, caged, cruelly bound.
The city I serve is the thing that I hate
But to follow her orders is my dismal fate.
I'll carry my sorrows until my sword rusts,
Until my helm shatters and I fall to dust.
But don't cry for me, you heirs to the land,
Before I was me, I was nothing but sand.
It you who should worry of what is to come
When you've killed the world's wonders and left it with none.
You see, there will always be uses for sand
So tell you me: Will the same hold true for man?
- Title: The Ghost of the Land
- Artist: Luxraen Fury
Just a small poem from the point of view of a creature made of sand and charged with he protection of a city. Very basic rhyme scheme, but it's really more about story than form.
The question at the end is not only extended to the humans of the city in the poem, but it is also directed at the reader. Think it over, and remember that there is no right answer.
- Date: 12/01/2008
- Tags: ghost land