The Third Black Renaissance

Heavy is the casted die.

The great gamble of our lives.

To stoke the embers of memory.

And will the next century.

With faith thrusted forward,

To front lines blurred beyond.

We march…

Into unforgiving oblivion,

As history echoes at our heels.

And yet we know…

We have trailed treachery before…

And yet no more…

Staunchly we trudge muddy depths.

Beyond beastly breath,

As toothed talons rain from wingèd wake above.

To pry us from the hopes and dreams that we love.

J.R. Bastion

“Be it that the beacon may flicker, and a moment be stolen
to unruly night. Yield not the flame, yield not yourself…”

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