Soldier, halt! Ye days are numbered.
Where the flowers bloom in red
and give off smells of scented lead,
fight on! In spite of what you had,
the well-known riches - now all lumbered.
Inner turmoil’f those who slumber
gives unrest, driving them mad.
Yet the struggle still persists
in the torchbearers, their days numbered.
Scholar, hark! Ye flame goes drier.
When did last you lay in bed?
Once your life hangs by a thread,
and again you split your head
betwixt two choices, one ranked higher,
looking at the knowledge spire,
always choosing low instead.
Why does the other choice exist?
For its temptation makes you drier.
Traveler, ** Ye path goes yonder.
What you search is out of reach.
Your hands gripped on the blessed speech
of inner toils, you heard them preach
and went to seek the all lost wonder.
Others that through darkness wander –
you try to enlighten each,
an ending on which you insist,
forgetting that the truth is yonder.
Man of morn, ye dawn is breaking.
Look upon your treasured land!
Has not the path thus far been grand?
For every atom, every sand
is the result of your own making.
Not a blessing, nor forsaking,
only few that weight withstand.
Should you not be on that list,
don't fret, for soon ye dawn is breaking.
Nov 15, 2025
Nov 15, 2025 at 9:58 PM UTC
Soldier, halt! Ye days are numbered.
Where the flowers bloom in red
and give off smells of scented lead,
fight on! In spite of what you had,
the well-known riches - now all lumbered.
Inner turmoil’f those who slumber
gives unrest, driving them mad.
Yet the struggle still persists
in the torchbearers, their days numbered.
Scholar, hark! Ye flame goes drier.
When did last you lay in bed?
Once your life hangs by a thread,
and again you split your head
betwixt two choices, one ranked higher,
looking at the knowledge spire,
always choosing low instead.
Why does the other choice exist?
For its temptation makes you drier.
Traveler, ** Ye path goes yonder.
What you search is out of reach.
Your hands gripped on the blessed speech
of inner toils, you heard them preach
and went to seek the all lost wonder.
Others that through darkness wander –
you try to enlighten each,
an ending on which you insist,
forgetting that the truth is yonder.
Man of morn, ye dawn is breaking.
Look upon your treasured land!
Has not the path thus far been grand?
For every atom, every sand
is the result of your own making.
Not a blessing, nor forsaking,
only few that weight withstand.
Should you not be on that list,
don't fret, for soon ye dawn is breaking.
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