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The Dark

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The Dark

Even some young men still fear the night, the cold, the dark, the uncertainty that it presents, and what it may conceal.
  Oh the dark and terrible secrets that it hides.
  Old and powerful legends of times now forgot. They cower within the veil of night, allowing the silence to smother them, to mute their tales of grandeur.
  It obscures their death, and no one will notice their absence.
  For most which hide, they know they are on borrowed time, for the darkness which wraps around them also contains that which will be their destroyer.
  To be extinguished, removed, and even forgotten to such a state, it is as if they never did exist. 

  Some young men refuse to see this happen. 
  They are the ones who brave the night, despite what it may hold.
  Who light the fires which drive back the dark and all that lurk within.
  Who speak the tales of grandeur so they may not be forgot.
  Who stand, hand in hand before the destroyers.
  Who bellow that this time is not borrowed, for it has been duly earned.
  For these are the people who would notice absence, and morn it with each day.
  These are the people who will light the way, and plough triumphantly into the night, their steed pounding away, a partnership forged, into the mists, until the sun will rise and vanquish the night complete.
  Then all will know of what the dark so nearly took, and all shall hear bellowed tails of grandeur, and the secrets, that without the night, without that abyss, that cold, are no longer dark and terrible.


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