Myths die in the mist of time
a legend will be lost within ancient script
parchments will no longer hold it's name
written in a forgotten tongue
so many jars filled with sand
grains without number
are as the centuries that will pass
before it has a remembering.
Memories of it's misfortune will be as a fleeting dream
the myth rose from the barren mute land
bleeding out a fiery history
telling the death of the innocents
and as it finally takes to the earth
and eon will pass for the blind land
it's last breath is death itself.
Sheol is where it resides
and in hades it finds it's resting place
no grass will take root nor tendril will take hold
the air a noxious fume
barren blind mute wastelands
there will be no consolation or solace
for the ground
for it will suffer along with its residents evil.
And as the centuries pass
a time will unfold
where all that have lived
will have been lost
and an unlikely soul will whisper
his eyes alight
*"Let this time be past
let this be a time for all that find need
for all that have want
to rejoice
the time is now
for a new remembering"