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A Dirge For Ayridion by Sthai

Runner Up for August 2008

But a moment to the sky, and the threshold beyond.
Effortless, searing, white against endless blue -
But a moment to the Havens, and there high above,
An ending, a rending, a thread torn apart.

Here, in the above, an Abyss to render an ending,
To the age of Vernals, the Threshold in fiery light.
Burning, and blazing - none shall pass ever beyond,
Nor ascend to the Havens as man into God.

Up, up, endlessly onwards, a moment, a flame,
Burnt to cinders, ashes, essence rent into naught.
But a kiss on the lips, a mote in the eye of a God,
Then endless, a return, a spiraling home.

Oh, whatever is home, and what has become,
Of the Flame who ascended, from mortal to God?
An eternity this, falling from Havens to Prime,
Severing, dying, fading, and hopelessly lost.

How many steps can we count to the Threshold above?
A moment for Gods, an eternity for a mortal man.
Reft harshly of the cloak of Divinity's fire,
What man could wonder, nor eye predict?

Burning, burning, but ashes, and colder,
A flame, austere, a final, implacable hand.
Against the Void, against endings, an ending to render,
The final act, in defeat, a victory.

Above, above, what hand created this, and how?
What mortal mind can contain the spark of Divine?
Down, down, falling eternal, dwindling to this -
Mortal and shaking, cold in the night.

What eye will mark that silver fall,
Who shall mourn this act, the Fallen Flame?
An act of a play, alone, upon an empty stage,
A soliloquy of fire, witnessed by none.

And what remains, but the mortal shell?
Rent and grieving, a singular thing lost.
No man can imagine, nor his mind encompass,
The last stand, the Gates, the Threshold Above -
The final descent, and the death of a God.