Leaving Ceylon

By: Greyda Posted on: December 29, 2005

Meagre was the rabble of Ceylon
When many fled with Glanos and Sahart
As history tells, the best and brightest gone,
Shallam and Ashtan's foundings to take part.

O'er half the population gone for good,
The weak, the poor, the hopeless only stayed
To linger in the past, misunderstood,
Remainders of humanity, some say.

But also in the old, forsaken city
Dwelt those still loyal to the golden land
They would not leave their home behind so quickly,
This treasured gift borne of Divine command.

Devoted to each other and their home,
How tragic was their fealty then repaid.
A blight invaded, origin unknown,
And through the city tore a putrid plague.

Amidst a broken font within the city
Flowed water o'er the statue of Mantru,
Demolished by the souls who felt no pity
And blamed the architect for their fortune.

Despite the Aldar's plans and strong foundation,
The genius of his glorious masterpiece,
His walls could not keep out this infestation,
As tortured wailing echoed through the streets.

Despairing hope, the humans formed a plan:
To venture forth from home they were resigned.
Away they'd travel, heading to great sands,
And yield their city to the Gods' designs.

From door to door the tired survivors passed,
Assembling those who were fit to travel far.
This cruel parade would be the city's last
As shadows crept along the boulevard.

Treading o'er the stones of their forebears,
They neared the towering statues of the Gods.
With shame-bowed heads and desperate, pleading prayers
They left the city gates to chance their odds.

Upon the western valleyside arose
The mausoleum of blessed Pasiphae,
Her ivy-covered grave in hushed repose,
Stoically watching o'er the sad escape.

At last, at last, the people all were gone
And night concealed the forgotten land of dawn.