On Vellum pages are words
hewn by blood stained quills
by the fevered hand
of a cleric
And as the ashes fell
the book was opened
the leaves scribed
to create a memory
for those to come
Pages stained by time
reveal a history
bitter and unredeemed
of a frayed and brittle Empire
The heart now cold
the gleam of youth departed
memories against dimming eyes
What thoughts turn
in a tired mind
as the book is opened
This Empire of the Sun
pinnacle of the world
creator of Poem and Song
lies now beneath the sheen
of a brutal havoc
Fires of poison ebbing
as the last soul watched
a sea of ash
The book is opened
Breathe the scent of history
Read the story told
of a people dead and gone
and who left for us
in a Barrow's niche
the Book of the Fallen
And are we to be
simply history relived
to end
then to end again
and........
