Memories of a chanced Man

On the lonely hilltop I stood,

staring through the shadows

as the mist grew stronger.

I saw someone rising,

in cloaked strange attire, with one arm trust forward.

Lo and behold, a dead, skeletal hand it was.

Stupefied, I saw a child,

running into the darkness.

With torn clothes, tripping over barren rocks.

Vaguely familiar he seemed,

And I cried:

Who are you in this unholy hour?

And in such ungodly place!

Ask me not, kind sir. For I cannot say.

Fell things roam the night when the future is in the past.

He said and again he fled.

Alas, the boy tripped and fell

Blindly gasping for air.

Stiff, petrified, I turned toward the hand

the scrawny fingers shot towards him

and a white light blazed.

Suddenly I jumped in front,

trying to shield the boy.

Hugging him, a pain, sweet as rain,

swept all over me.

Your safe, little boy, I said.

I fell and thought I was no more.

Foolish man,

I heard a shrill voice speak.

Meddling into affairs beyond men.

Brave was the thing you did,

Awake,

I grant you another chance.