New Moon

Three creatures howled to an empty moon;

each inconsolable seeking solace.

The dryads in the woods echoed their sorrow.

The banshees by the lake screamed their regret.

The bearer of honor sighed mournfully.

He was a mere pawn in the grand design.

Should he perish, everything else will fail

thus, his repose, he was unfortunately denied.

The bearer of wisdom sat down in dejection.

His call across the ether had gone unheeded.

His days of glory now long gone in the past,

he could weave spells no more, nor elements, forge.

The bearer of thievery had fallen down

far lower than his stealthy crimes.

There was the nausea that he was being watched.

There was fear of an inevitable retribution.

Each had dropped on his knees to pray,

beseeching his own silent, unmoving god.

Yet no disappointment surpassed their own

as no miracle or blessing descended upon them.

For what is honor when one is defeated?

For what is wisdom where all else is deaf?

For what is celerity when bound to the pillory?

For what is a hope raised only to be crushed?

Three creatures howled to an empty sky,

overcast, at a light that was never there.