Be still. Be quiet. My little child. Rest your weary mind. Be still. And see. What will be, shall be. Watch my Lily, Watch my Clan, Feel my Stone, Moss and Fan. Shield the Sun, Its rays come through. A morning rain patters true. Somewhere a tree groans, And here it rests. Its branches new trunks, Its old trunks a new nest. I was born here, Eons before. Not this flesh, not this bone, But the soul it bore. Here. Remnants of the Old World The stories they once told, The threads they once wove, A torrent of rain now opening. As it unloads upon you To wash the dredge of humanity from your skin As I wax poetic, Faulty to the resounding roar. Deafening and silent, it is True. The First Law. The Only Law. I am here, long before and long after. I. Am. Here. Whispers from the Old Gods Before our constructs and our hubris. They will outlast us. As they should. As they will. And those that remain, Will return home. Their First Home. We are all Children Of The Wood.
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January 2022
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