Book of Riddles

Day 2,034, 16:11 • Published in Brazil Serbia • by OVALNI REBORN






Fallen leaves knee deep,
smell of fall in the air.
Ancient tree has one last fruit
of regret left to bear.

Friends of old call to battle
for the foes.
What is left of the sacred flame, is it yet
to bring new woes?

Sons of titan, daughters to order,
thought the grass greener elsewhere.
Gone in haste, first to taste,
the bitter truth when they got there.

Second to cross, lured with taste of victory,
or their ancient, taken, lands.
Some sit chained now,
Latter fight battles in sands.

Upturned roots are hard to grow anew,
there is no trust among thieves.
Self evident truths, as is this one:
there is no kinship among fallen leaves.

One riddle to solve, ye true soldiers of light
and those who think for oneself:
Could one leaf removed then, whatever strong,
bring life in glory to the tree itself?

And for those who gaze into the future,
another one to face:
Can one flag removed now, whatever bold,
hoist half a dozen bolder in its place?