HOW THE SEASONS CHANGE
Ah, how the seasons change. I've seen our land prosper and flourish. I've seen our land in ruins and dormant. I've seen the root of doom blanketing the land. And new hope be born anew from these very roots. I've seen the fights and struggle for the crowns. I've seen great traders emerge with thunderous strength. Only to see them fall and fade away.
But it is during nights like this one that I can't help but ask myself. Where are they now? The pioneers, the ones who came before. The wise ones, the ones who made their mark. The caring ones, the ones who gave their all. The rebels, the ones who pushed for change. The lovers, the ones who shared their hearts. The writers, the ones who told their tales.
Is it just looking back at the past with rose tainted shades? Is this old man yelling at the clouds?
Where have they all gone? The machine who used to rule at the top. The bickering comets fighting over who would get to shine brighter. The racing pirates in a never-ending contest for their captain's crown. The five who used to both terrify and be ridiculed by the people. The octopi who gathered to plot inside the void. The all-knowing hellish reapers. The recorder whose archives have stood the test of time. The necromancers with their impressive tech and discourse. The shrine maidens who proudly defended their ideals at the gatherings.
I've seen it all, new and old faces. All gone, like tears in the rain. There is no pencil that would last enough for me to write their tales. There is no notebook that would be long enough to record their legends.
Many have gathered at this place, and such, all kinds have carved their place here. From the depths of hell to the heights of heaven. From regular men to automata. From outer space to the howling abyss.
As I look up to the night sky, I must ask. Oh great stars, you who have seen it all. You who carry an inconceivable amount of memories. You who have witnessed all our history. Will my light reach them? When they ponder these questions like I do?
Will this melancholy and nostalgia ever leave? Will I resist the test of time? If so, what will become of me? Otherwise, will there be others like me?
I've spent endless hours thinking of these questions. Pondering with the stars. Walking through nature with doubts. But the one that I will never be able to answer. The one that will always haunt me.
What happened? Where have you gone? Are you chasing your dreams? Will my light ever reach you?
Ah, how the seasons change. Yet, many things stay the same. Despair or Hope. Life or death. But alas, I'm tired. Oh so very tired. Will the land flourish again? Will I get to see it? Perhaps a better questions is. Can I endure to see it? This never-ending cycle of history. Will civilization endure? Ah, how the seasons change...
