The Lost

The Lost

Those moments, between night and day, light uncertain,
through a mist hugging close the ground, peering,
the child of Earth and Heaven perceives and yearns,
longing for days long past when his kind were many
and Man did not deny or hunt the ancient races.
Ages, oh such long ages, together dwelt,
until the missionaries came, with word and iron,
flame and hatred scouring the mist-realms,
religious fervour driving out the ancient ones.
Child of Earth whose ancestors dwelt in Light,
who recalled the Music and the Majesty lost
to enter the mortal world, to care and keep.
But the holy men, the savage saints, came
and declared the twilight folk Fallen.
And now, even as faith declines untended,
the final remnant, scattered, homeless,
can only dream of yesteryears long gone,
almost forgotten, dismissed by disbelief,
can only peer out upon the world and mourn.

Steve Smy,
9th March, 2013.

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