the Chronicler

nomadic tale of desolation,
mysterious like the desert.

The caravan arrives
on the planes of the desert.

Gold to be found
near the old sand's
days,

where we could live like
nothing really mattered.
We could throw the sand in
each others' eyes
and still we could
see.

This old winter how
it attempts to siphon the
life force
of a forgotten world,

of a place where
those of kin live
and the dead
arise like horse
flies.

They bite into the flesh
of a day of eternal endings.
Nothing, not even the
Darkness, could stop the
turn into the end of this world

That leads into the next.

So begins the tale of the
Chronicler,
master of observation
of our days before
the end.