Another Side of Epic (coda)

One story’s ending is another’s beginning
What tale there is, was told
But Cykles and old Moss, like the stranger, Death, knew
Life tolls no bell at its end
The rivulets that ran red soak into the ground
And one’s death does not define one’s life
It’s the living of it that does
No one but perhaps save Lord Kyryn believed that Mydaefandymn
Would leave now that the task was done
Old Moss shook his head as he turned to walk back
To his house in the tree
He had seen the future of suffering in the flames of the morning’s light
And smelled the burning flesh and wood
Cykles found the boy and hoped to change one mind
At a time
As was passed to him would he pass down
And hope for the best after
The lifeless lost their lovers, daughters and sons their fathers,
Wives their husbands, and parents their sons
Pride was not measured but the stains on the swords
The winner one day was food for the crows the next
But each day, each hour is all that we may have
What small precious stones that build upon each other?
What collections of mammal hair spun into our garments?
Choosing between red and white and black
We set the fabric on the loom and select the threads
This tale is done, the event is complete
The killings not stopped, nor our minds free from grief
Each of our clothes are stained and none a single color
It’s our next thread that counts