The tales grow brittle,
left untold.
The incantations dry.
The knight, the dragon, and the maid
forgotten, left to die.
The hunter and the quarry
cease their endless chasing games.
And all the wild in all the world,
the silence slowly tames.
The story-laden stars go dark,
the woodland creatures cry.
The lantern-flowers give no light,
and fae no longer fly.
Beware the rift of of magic
separated from the earth.
No warriors to save the day,
just empty, longing dearth.
The stories lay forgotten now
on dusty, splintered shelves,
and we abandon to the void
the better of ourselves.
Beyond Panic 