Dagon Blood Of The Ancients
Once I was stranded in my pride,
my vision blind by the scope of all things prescribed.
Then by the words of a contemplative mind,
my dreams took flight and the sage within me thrived.
What once with certainty I had considered myth,
fiction gone amiss, the stuff of the abyss.
I see as more than tales men whisper in the night,
the truth will come to flight and proof will come with
sight.
To the ends of the Earth,
to a place where dreams make berth.
I feel the blood of ancients swimming through my veins,
a call to see what they have seen.
A faith in dreams and visions in my soul ingrained;
could I believe what they believed?
Once the envy of my peers,
my new conviction have resigned me to their jeers.
I must stand up to my fears,
lest I be consumed for years, the path to me is clear.
By providence alone ride to the marches and beyond,
where few have gone I'll travel on.
Until I find the legends that men have lost,
consigned to memory, cast aside as Zeus or Thoth.
Onward I ride to the west and to the east,
to seek the proof I need and my torment's surcease.
Verities confound me as a stag eludes a hound,
but I'll have my vindication and tell of what I've
found.
