A poem

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

There are some still,

haunted by waking sorrow, tormented by sleeping joy.

And of these, each is stood as a Pillar,

each to hold up all that would come crashing down without.


And they are green fields and misty meadows,

the sight of children playing in a parent’s proud eye,

where the Sun shines everlasting,

hidden away atop a mountain of trouble.


There,

guarded from the lasting dark,

stood up and kept from grief,

stood up atop the Pillars of anguish and regret,

Pillars cast down in the dark,

Pillars,

forgotten, and remembered.


Forgotten for their struggle.

Remembered for their place.

And thanked, wholly,


With silence.