The Lost

A place lost to time
Lost to the inability to think,
and though the few lost our prime.
All along so many dedicated to the ink,

When they could not even see.
The Muses can help them no more,
For they have lost hope and only plea
For the return of the art of man evermore.

For you are creatures of beauty
People of the Craft, and the Crafted.
It is our sacred duty
To protect each good work ever drafted.

What is good and even great?
To that question the true essence lost
For we live in an era of hate,
And we live in comfort at a cost.

There is no center,
Only the animals remain today.
Today there are too few mentors,
Too few to pass the torch

Hated as is the fray.
Due to too few knowing how to read,
When all only forget and never care again.
Knowledge never stays like humanities’ creed,

And is ever shrinking the human brain.
So much betrayal and unnecessary death,
The value of a person lost to the ages
Just as so many breathe their final breath.

All I hope is for man’s unnecessary rages
To end and for the beginning of love
To reign in our hearts once more.
Today we celebrate marriage with doves

But that makes love a chore.
Willing the good of another,
To protect those, you know from harm,
To love each other,

It is not meant to charm.
We are protectors of each other,
and creatures of beauty.
To something for yourself rather

Than for others is a fault in your duty.
Become a Sentential with honor,
And stand guard to protect.
Protect from tyranny to avoid dishonor,
And gain all needed respect.

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