Christopher Haywood Poet Rhyme

Notes About The Poem

Lysander faces the horrifying reality of the floodgates he unlocked. Linking minds doesn't inherently cure ego or ancient cruelties. 

Vaeloria Chapter 11 - The Gathering Rot

But innocence is fleeting in a world that feeds on pain,
And Lysander’s golden network was a fragile, human chain.
He built a bridge across the void for desperate minds to meet,
But forgot to wash the poison from the travelers' weary feet.
By the second year of weaving, all the currents turned to lead,
As all the old cruelties of the living and the dead
Came flooding through the cellular gates, a dark and violent slime,
The malice and the envy of a long-forgotten time.
The thread was far too delicate, the static far too loud,
The human ego would not bend, too arrogant and proud.
It did not heal them instantly; it made them all akin
To every dark and hidden sin that festered deep within.
Lysander sat paralyzed, a prisoner of his throne,
His crooked body shaking with a horror not his own.
He felt the phantom agony of ancient, iron wars,
The bitter fruit of minds that only dreamed of making scars.
He saw the floodgates he had opened, saw the dangerous sea,
And knew that he was drowning in their shared hypocrisy.
Yet as his long hands trembled with the planet's collective ache,
He refused to cut the living cord, he refused to let it break.
He knew that if he severed it, the dark would win the fight,
And damn Vaeloria to an eternal, separate night.
He held the connection open, through the madness and the grime—
The human fuse that burned toward the dawn of Fifty-Five.

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