WA ( / Manchester, England.)

The Sage (Verse X, Osedicus Sleeps In Fallouth)

The moons silver hue torched his path to Fallouth
As Osedicus flew through the night.
Right above him a shadow approached from the south,
Swirling west in migratory flight.

“That’s a strangeness”, he thought, “ For they fly the wrong way,
What on Tillanho steers them to west? ”
But he gave up the ghost and at risk of delay,
Hurried on through the night without rest.

At the break of the dawn he saw movement below
And what looked like a dancing white light,
When an orb-looking crystal, that bobbed to-and-fro,
Rose to greet him, much to his delight.

“A pleasure it is that you made it at all”,
Spoke the sweetest voice he’d ever heard.
“The Darkness is rising, we’re here at your call,
So let’s hurry, I’m sure you have word? ”

The orb-looking crystal began to descend
With Osedicus flying in tow.
He thought of the Sage, whom they’d all now depend,
And his tears fell like raindrops below.

His dearest old friend had been there all along
And had given up most of his life
To safeguard the Races each time it went wrong,
Through the toils, the troubles and strife.

And now here it was starting over again,
Only this time the foe was much worse!
A sanguiverous mass that existed for pain,
Scoured the land in a hypnotic curse.

A fusion of light brought him back with a start,
With his vision severely impaired.
When he dropped to the ground like a featherless dart,
So much hoping his life would be spared.

But instead of crash-landing he stopped a good foot
From the earth in a hovering state,
And then gently touched down with his eyes tightly shut
Praying life over death be his fate!

When he opened his eyes he could see crystal clear,
And then nothing but clear crystal see!
Every object emitted a glass-like veneer
As he humbled in stark reverie.

He now stood in a courtyard created from glass
In a Citadel, emerald green.
Where gargantuan turrets, the zenith surpassed,
Emanated a citrinous sheen.

It was no tale of Fairies or make-believe dream
That his life had been spared once again,
Or by chance met a Wraith with the highest esteem
For his plight, was no accident feigned.

A melodic intrusion of tinkling bells
Brought the end to the lack of all sound,
And just as a Wizard, engrossed in his spells,
He succumbed to the magic around.

His eyes felt so heavy, his head in a spin
Yet his mind warned of words not to keep.
But this was a battle he never would win,
And he aimlessly drifted to sleep.

by Warren Atherton

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