Dedicated to all the writers I know – you are loved and appreciated for your craft.

Light the fire, feast.
Chase the ghost, give in.
Take the road less travelled by.
Leave the city of fools.
Turn every poet loose!

The shadows had fallen across the land, a dark blanket that sprawled in the hearts and minds of all that dwelled there. The night skies were shrouded in roiling clouds, hiding away the stars, just as the darkness hid hope. Beyond the horizons, oblivion rumbled, announcing its final advance.

In the distance, long howls crept upon the spines of all, heralded the approach of blackened rumours, whispers of the coming downfall of civilisation. Cities had crumbled, forests burned, and ever onwards, the end marched.

The sounds of feasting pounded out from the city, a final, desperate celebration, a calling reaching for the gods above, deities that had long since fallen silent to the peoples of the world.

And, unseen by all those in their final indulgence, in their aching desire for ever after and a last touch at a paradise, the gates swung open, weight grinding against the darkness.

From within came the silent figures, draped in their cloaks, shielding them from the poison that soiled the air. Torches and lamps lit the ground and the faces of those hid, a scattering of tiny fireflies as they parted ways, a myriad of figures that walked the world and pushed back the darkness.

Come the poets; the storytellers, the last stand against the shadows in the minds of all.

They who tell the tales of old and sing the stories of the future, weaving a fabric of fiction beside the tapestry of fact.

For they would speak the words that none other could, would write the script that could not be imagined by any other. The unsung heroes would make idols of others, figures that the people could reach for, while they themselves melded back into the dark, ever onwards in their journey. Like gods they dreamt and created, and like the shadows of the dead they would fade into the night unseen.

Until time itself finally came for them and erased the small pockets of heaven that they had constructed, turning man to dust, word by word they would rekindle hope.