Now a bolt of lightning plummets,
from Heavens own, mighty summits,
it does stay there, as it hits the ground,
as thunder roars, its mighty sound.
Up the bolt, Turvehr does run,
the end, it is most surely come,
as he rises, higher than high,
Utamol falls out of the sky.
Everyone watches the sword of power fall,
from the mighty hand of Dark Man tall,
as it falls, end over end,
the saddest whistle it does send.
Now, when it did strike the ground,
deep sank the blade, without a sound,
then the earth began to shake,
A great tremor came, the earth did almost break.
Then the storm did pass away,
gone, all the immortals, who thought that day,
tears now fell freely, like falling rain,
sadness reigned within the soul again.
Ever through the days to come,
none would mind the glorious sun,
the saddest work, they still had to do,
they would not stop, till it was through.
From battlements, people start to leave,
in anguished sorrow, they did believe,
although great battle had been won,
they had lost, each and every one.
Warrior queen, now sleeping child carried,
upon the way home no one tarried,
no one would sleep for many a night,
far from the soul, had left human light.
In the morning, all gathered at great gates,
the gates are opened, no one hesitates,
all move forward, there duty to do,
to the dead, the living must be true.
And now, throughout this dismal day,
bodies were carried, ceremoniously,
To the sacred grove, where Alahsars Dead lay.
and slept in peace, till God took them away.
And Utamol, they each passed by,
each bowing head, as tears they did cry,
remembering, as only those who love can,
that mighty warrior, known as the Dark Man.
Many days did pass this way,
people marching, day by day,
carrying forth, the bodies of the slain,
along Alahsar's mighty plain.
Unto the grove, these bodies went,
into Death's kingdom, they were sent,
the people, they did stand and weep,
their anguished feelings, still ran deep.
Storms did arise from Heaven's skies,
tears falling from immortal eyes,
on grove, where life was finally spent,
waiting for souls to go to Heaven's firmament.
And throughout a sad filled year,
from many eyes, still fell the tear,
ever as they passed Utamol,
all their heads would sadly fall.
Throughout the year, grove tended well,
many sad stories people do tell,
of the battle, fought not far,
before the golden gates of Alahsar.
..........To Be Continued.
Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2019