Legend of the Sun
8-17-04

Written in blood was this ancient legend, Of the cursed bloodline run; Only in vile land was this imagined, The horror of the Sun. A deity’s Staff passed to priest of day, In the temple of dark Sun, A blackened light that seemed to pray For more blameless blood to run. A curse was passed to him that day That day he took the token. A nameless horror of decay Never to be broken. But a loophole was to be seen, After passing years; One fading chance of coming clean And putting behind its fears. A simple boy was put to the task Of destroying the Staff so dread, A bastard wearing a ‘worthless’ mask On his heart and in his head. The last one left of that cursed line Must now break the Staff Before the curse should take his time, His life, of its wicked craft. It is impossible, maybe, But he’ll try it even so,— Nothing it could give could be Bad as his own fate, no. Will he make it? Can he prevail? The legend lies therein. Just know that if he should then fail It will spell death for him.

                       I had to change the second and fourth lines of the last section (my education regarding what you call different things in poetry currently escapes me). I was using the pronoun "he" improperly and it was driving me crazy. I fixed it though. The poem was written with inspiration from my story The Staff of the Sun (which is currently under a(nother) rewrite).

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