Forgotten Warrior

An elemental guardian of old has not spoken because no one listens, has not moved because no one stays still, has not surrendered because no one fights. His ancient ways mirror ancient days; his limbs grow weary and dread, all the colors that mimic the dead, the reds, blue-silver, and yellow-grays, But now, through life of quiet voice: a writer seeks to quell the spell that cast the stones to ground the spell that cast the water fell. And now the time is changing. the sun sings something new, the time reflected in the moon has never shone so blue. When the wooden clock strikes twelve at one, the sun will strike at two, and then the warrior, awake at last, will conjure an everlasting dew.