Nick Kienzle - Art Guy - Runes Vol. 1

Foretold by mantic mages and wizened elders,

The buried hope we dare not speak.

Arise.

Glory streaming moonlit skies.

Arise.

Every totem, sign and blackened rune.

Arise.

All reticent hosts with cloak of blue.

Arise.

The thought before the world first wept.

Not nascent thunder, nor craven tombs

but silence procession, barely lit

Amongst the dirt and ancient clay,

It could not be, and yet is

Might without madness.

Strength without sin.

The child king.

Arise.

Riven rumination pierce blackened skies

Rough-hewn rocks, once cragged and gnarled, now worn under the

footsteps

of a thousand bloody feet

Dead things lurk up there,

ravens feast, the wind makes its presence known

Fury and chaos chatter, their words relentless

but today is different

there was much to talk about Before,

ancient runes, dark in their magic and mystique, were written across

every gate, messages to the far and deep, but they now seem distant,

a Man approaches,

or at least, what was left of him,

Broken, tattered

The slinking, tireless things whisper, sneer,

once confined to corners but now pointing bony fingers, dancing

“Nails and trees and rope and spears”

All moments, blurred together breathe again, then stillness;

dawn.

Dawn.