This is not the Night
that held the whispers of my dreams
The Darkness' once-familiar touch
is no longer what it seems.

These are not the cool grey mists
Carpeting the winding streets of home.
The same cobblestones line the same paths
now labyrinthian, in this amaranthine gloam.

The stars glimmer but faintly,
Where once they shone so bright
Elentari's jewels, dulled through the fog
of "Progress," with Reason's dying light.

This is not the Night
of hidden mysteries, or inscrutable truths.
This darkness holds no secrets,
only a Litany of fates
from which there is no salvation -
Though, when one forgets to fight for freedom
and enters slavery with open eyes
then perhaps there never was.


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Miraman, in the year 799 AF.