Despite the worm eaten pages of the book
The hang drawn images still held my awe
Though I could not read the text
The illustrations drew me into a world
A dark one much like my own

Adorned on those pages
Were thirteen figures dressed in black
But the images gave them no evil connotation
As auras of a pale white light
emanated from the cloaked beings

In dark and dizzying chasms it showed them
Evidently searching for something
But one by one through their journey
They fell up to the darkness
Never as themselves seen again

Though their loses great
They carried on until but three of them remained
Sensing their imminent doom
Preformed a dazzling rite
Though what its effects were I couldn't say

The final half molded page of the book
shows those there figures sitting as stones
Down in that abysmal place
Far below some long forgotten city
To the far northern wastes past the plains

No one believed such tales as this
Many disregarded them wholly
Not even giving it the title of fairy tale
As they said "At least a fairy tale
Has a moral or lesson to learn"

But I treasured the worn old book
And it resonated with me
In a way I don't fully understand
I often find myself wondering
Where those thirteen lie buried

Perhaps waking or dead
Below the surface of the earth