THE PROPHET OF DAWN

I am the seer, the prophet of dawn. I shoulder the war of the world and beg to see further than most. With arms open wide and heart banded with steel, I sing the songs of men without vision, of men without moments, of men without the wheel to turn them by. We are horizons at the zenith, like Cassandra at her most dumb, we listen and hear nothing. But I sing and I see, I am the prophet of dawn. The suns early rays strike my forehead, creating prisms of rainbows, energy both warm and frozen. Time sits beside the vacant throne, counting moments across millenniums, across generations of men...