In Abjurum

As the stone grows worn from the endless rains,
It recalls a time before the lands had names,
Before the tall trees were torn down and chained,
When the wild things roamed alive and untamed,
Living to be free, unyoked, without shame,
Such was the way of things, the cycle maintained
Until one day They came to make a change,
Ravaging the natural ways, night and day,
Like gods of life and death, all nature was unmade,
Sowing chaos to reap their fire, power, fame,
Until all life was spent, nothing else remains,
But an old boulder, growing older, scarred and stained.

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