What is this life for?
What path must we choose?
The more that we struggle, the more that we lose.
We kill to preserve,
We die to survive,
A contradiction in terms?
Yet we are still alive.
Is the battle we wage worth the price of the fight?
If death is the victor, what matters who’s right?
What spirit protects us when day turns to night?
And the shadows that threaten consume all the light?
Who shall guide us? Who will it be?
The deaf cannot hear and the blind cannot see.
Of brothers and sisters, of the captive and free,
of the old and the newborn, of the land and the sea,
of those chosen to lead us, of those who yet disagree,
who will emerge, when our hopes have been dashed?
Are there heroes among us?
Have they the strength to stand fast?
Will they come to the rescue
When the black die is cast?
What harbor protects them?
Who shelters their mast from the foul winds of war?
Will he destroy us at last?
On the edge of despair we balance and totter,
Is safety the true one, and dare the imposter?
He does not push us,
The choice is our own,
to leap or to stand up to the evil we know.
The choice to accept, the choice to deny,
The choice to consent, the choice to decry,
the choice to be stalwart, the choice to pass by,
the choice to embrace the truth or the lie.
We hold back the night that has darkened his moon.
Pity the chorus that ended too soon,
While the armies of madness march to the tune
of a song gladly sung by this prophet of doom.
His music is rife with sadness and grief,
yet he smiles and he prances,
he dances and swoons,
His joy is a bitter and poisonous pill,
tempting the weak and thwarting the will.
Seeks he the boy or the man for his kill?
Forsake not the warnings, succumb not to sorrow,
give to the child what he has come here to borrow,
No tower can be as safe as it seems,
A wall is no shield from the violence of dreams.
You provide him a shelter, you lend him the means,
What appears a betrayal, what appears more than fate,
What appears the design, what appears consummate,
What appears to be harsh, what appears to berate,
What appears as an answer too little, too late,
Hides a truth so enormous it cannot be seen,
A thread in the fabric that holds fast the seams.
GemQuest, Book IV, Revenge of the Elves