Acta Est Fabula Poem by Chris Noir

All the craving of this world
Turn to ash before their eyes
The path has been foretold
And it leads to plains of myst.

Existence in between these walls
With the ceiling so close.
it feels like a prison for mortals
And gods alike, inescapable.

The chains that hold them are their own
With them we were born
To wear and to tighten, as the picture
Is getting smaller.

Once free from the knowledge
Of imprisonment,
As we get more and more aware
the less we get to choose

It has all been written down
In a muddy swamp somhere in time
It has all been played out,
a long time ago, outside our grasp.

Heavy rains tear down the sodom
Not the fire or wrath
As our sins drown us
with no one to judge them

Just empty temples on mountain tops
And distant chants of their dwellers
Just empty words tossed into a well
Like so many ancient coins.

And the worlds will remain
long after the last trace of life
As *yggdrassil shrinks and dries
And falls asleep under volcanic ash.

And the footsteps in snow and sand
Will all be erased by the wind
The north and the south and the river time
Will suffer under the press of infinite void.

It has all been written down
in the sand on some beach by the sea
It has all been played out
In a mind of a newly born child.

*Yggdrassil-norse mythical world tree