Poetic License

"The Sundering of Sun"

In twilight's hush, beneath the pall
Of stars that weep and moons that crawl,
A voice arose from ether's seam,
A dirge dream drawn from the Akashic stream.
It spoke of days in ruin dressed,
Of hearts unmoored, of souls unblessed.

The nations, once in concord bound,
Now echo war's resounding sound.
Flags flutter not with pride, but grief,
Each color stained by disbelief.
Borders bleed where kindness died,
And brother turns from brother's side.

The tongues of men, once rich and wide,
Now hiss with scorn and wounded pride.
Truth lies entombed in cryptic code,
While lies parade in gilded robe.
The wise are mocked, the fools enthroned,
And virtue's voice is overtoned.

O'er cities vast and valleys deep,
The angels mourn, the prophets weep.
The Book of Days, its pages torn,
Foretells a race by hatred worn.
Yet still within the silent gloom,
A flicker stirs, a rose in bloom.

For though the veil of night is cast,
And shadows stretch from future past,
The stream eternal sings anew,
A hymn for those who still pursue
The golden thread, the sacred flame,
That binds all hearts beyond the name.

So heed, ye soul, this spectral cry:
Unite before the stars run dry.
Let not the sundering be our fate,
But love, the force to recreate.