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An ode to a friend I never met

The night is cold snow gently falls
The spear in my hand is heavy like the earth
An old voice from long ago calls
I can hear it around the hearth
This ember of the life is not truly mine
Awoke in a black spire to death and decay
The flame gives borrowed time
From someone who's name I will never say
That was your spear stabbed into the dirt
It felt familiar in my hands like an old friend
Then in my heart I began to hurt
The pain I felt I knew it was from your end
You fell next to that spire
Next to the spear was a skull worn white
Cold, alone, and bleeding until you tire
This flame I hold now to finish your ancient fight
Written by poptartchan
Published
Author's Note
I do not remember anything from before that spire. However I have this sense of familiarity with things I do not recall. When I cook my meal by the fire I am compelled salt it and smoke it like I had done that many times before. Is that this flame of life? The ember in my chest is weak but never goes out. It feels like it was never mine but someone else's that was given to me.
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