A basket lays empty on it's side,
it's bread long eaten and stolen away,
a bushel of apples left out in the rain,
moldering and uneaten.

The damp stains of time and neglect
echo between these tired and lonely walls.

Voices do not linger here,
laughter left us long ago..

Us? Not us, Me.
I am alone now,
Only in my mind am I yet free.

I weep for my people,
scattered by the great wind of His coming..

I never thought I'd live to see The Dark One return,
I cannot bar the feeling that I failed them,
Failed to prepare my people for this,
I should have seen it,
Known that it would come..

All these hundreds of years I have had the Sight,
and this time it fails me..

Me? Not me, My people.
I have shamed them.

It is fitting that I waste away in this empty place,
surrounded by the memorobilia of so many fruitful lives,
extinguished because I could not see the coming storm.

I am a relic, outside of my time,
someone's laundry blown onto the eaves,
fluttering ineffectively, making signs no one knows,
a door creaking in the night,
it makes sounds, but no one can interpret them.

~From the Personal Writings of
the Third Seer of the Soleri People

01/13/2004

Posted on 01/14/2004
Copyright © 2024 Leandra K Brossard