A Lost Secret Poem by T. R. Crissian

Through the night the wind blows cold,
Ore the mountains and fires old,
It rushes through lost and forgotten,
Cavern roads till the break of day that casts a spell that rings like a ringing bell.
The sound of a dragon cry pierces the clouds and reaches for the hidden moon, it bounces off the caverns in places deep where things thought not to be real live and sleep.

Ore the trees that burn a young bird flies with care listing to these sounds so fair of the wind that rings like a ringing bell and the dragon cry that reaches out to hold the moon these sounds cause this young bird to swoon.

It sees many a thing from the ere beginning of day to the time past midnight as it lets the wind carry it were it may wish and perhaps see or hear a small plight.

Many a murder this bird has seen and heard that chilling scream that ruffles its feathers and makes his eyes grow wide,
He’s witnessed a myth being born and watches a legacy being torn.

The dragon cries up to the now moonless night sky hoping that his tuneless tune shall be heard all around as it echoes to the deepest part of the darkest cave that hides lost secrets that should never have been lost nor forgotten.

It cries for all the pain felt far as trees tall burn long from a deliberate ruin, mountains crumble from times mighty hand
As kings are born then lost, decades turn to centuries,
Mist settles about this forgotten world.

It’s lost,
It’s old,
It’s forgotten,
It’s become an old and cold myth with a curse.