In life we find twelve joys, each one mark on the clock,
We start with noon, gazing out from a white marble dock
Unto the sea, upon a giant, jagged, blinding rock
Of steel and glass, glinting under the midday sun.
As the sunlight shifts, a shadow looms over the sky,
From the distant horizon, great sullen ships fly,
At first glance benevolent, but we soon hear a cry
Followed by more, and from the rain we run.
The bell tolls three, and the stars strike land,
Leaving naught but fires burning in the molten sand,
Great needles topple, like children hand-in-hand,
Ring-a-ring o' roses, the final strike is done.
Rays of orange sear the angry spires of smoke,
They cool to black, and all the fortunate folk
Too afraid to laugh at God's most heartless joke,
Find peace in each other, in becoming one.
Darkness cloaks the world, and chokes out all light,
Leaving those remaining to succumb to the night,
But in adversity they finally find the will to fight
Against the odds, against a former home undone.
Under cover of obscurity they commit to their toil,
They cool their blood that once so longed to boil,
Conjuring compassion from hate, order from turmoil,
'Til the rooster crowed, and their right to day was won.
From the shadows they emerge, riding steeds of steel,
Armed with spears of scorching fire, a vision so real
That their foes can not but marvel and bend down to kneel
As all their heads are taken, each and every one.
Morning beckons, and so too do those who were lost,
They paid the price of freedom, their lives the only cost,
And now they gather at the hollow bridge they crossed,
Then say, "You're home, my pride, my dearest son."
The hands inch towards the long-sought-after noon,
Our job is done, our time too shall come soon.
We hear the chime, and lay down to rest,
Too long have our wills been put to the test.
The voices grow stronger, the lights grow stronger.
In time, we shall rise again.
Edited by Viscoun, 24 September 2016 - 11:20 PM.