Elder days

no more.

this is the last of the Elder days 

I belonged to the Elder days,

their wars were personal 

I fought them 

I knew the lost soldiers 

I am the last 

the last of the Elder days 

the last of the oath keepers.

 I remember the May Flower 

the death, and trials 

the work 

we don't work as hard as we did than but for some reason we complain more 

you are used to having things handed to you.

I was used to those who knew better than to question an Ancients feelings

but no more,

I am the last 

the last of the Elder days 

they hunted us 

in Greece's time there were 500 of us

in Rome's time, 100

on the journey to America, 50 

than there was one 

they all stuck together and were lost 

the lost colony, never to be seen again 

I was not with them

I did not protect my own

even among the Elder Kind; I was different 

more, human though I still wore my wings proadly 

they were black. another thing that set me apart 

condemned me to this fate 

to live on while I watched them fall 

and did nothing 

there was nothing I could do 

there are only three ways an Ancient could die 

in battle, in wrong doing and by their own blade 

to die in battle was honerable among us

by their own blade was cowardice, but understandable 

to die in wrong doing was, wrong 

when you died by wrong doing you knew it was wrong 

there was no way that we couldn't know 

it was going against the Code 

and yet 73 of us died that way.

I did not die 

I am still here 

with all my memories but not my wings

they cannot be called back from the void of absense they left me 

who had ever heard of an Ancient with no wings?

but than again these days no one has even heard of an Ancient 

but I Am the last; 

the last of the Elder days

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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