The sixth: wondering acephalous in free

Upon a night of midnight clear,
the Runner fled among the golden tombs,
he was a man of ancient and high renown,
who by the fate of heaven was scattered below,
and left in madness to hear a voice of fire:

“Oh Man, who caused the sun to fall,
who sleeps beneath the moon and dreams of pain,
fear not, for I will raise you from the dead,
and bring you back among the temple’s Knights,
to Run among the sunless, godless men.”

But he, the Runner, shrunk back in fear,
for though it was his wish to dream again,
he feared the light and warmth of summer’s skin,
and so he ran, in dreams, in darkless light,
to the east he ran, away from Fire’s Hand.

The world in form was dark and deep,
the Ministry of Man had died in sleep,
those cities of gold now stood so silently,
and Man, like shadows, fought the rage of time,
while biding till the end of darkless days.

And so, the Runner ran from Man,
towards the ending of the world’s great Dark,
and leaping off those pitiful, wretched shores,
he found himself alone on a forgotten isle,
and fell to sleep, to dream of better days.

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