The First of All Days


The breathless ghost lay still in ghostly twilight:

‘I am the only one against whom thou dost fight.

When thou seest thy victims through a victim’s eyes,

thou shalt never be free of the grip of thy lies.’


Stunned and speechless, breathless and lost,

Fensham dropped his blade with the weight of its cost:

‘What is this place and who truly art thou?

Thou must let me leave here. Thou must tell me now.’


‘We do not keep thee. Thou art thy guard.

Thy flaming sword turneth with all disregard

for the evil perpetuated by thy word and thy deed.

Only thee, Fensham, can guide true thy steed.

For she, a creation, is likened to thee.

Thou art no greater than the horse or the tree.’


‘I am at a loss here,’ Fensham admitted.

‘I feel all the shame for the crimes I have committed.

I know no other way of achieving my goal,

yet even that in this place seems lacking in soul.’


‘And what is thy goal for which the world must be changed?

Why hast thou plotted and murdered and arranged

for taking from The Good King his life and his crown?

What lesson to the people art thou laying down?’


Silence descended as Fensham considered.

What for the people could he truly deliver?

‘I have not thought of the people in my plan.

All I consider is taking what glory I can.’


The ghost rose magically, majestically ascending,

and smiled at the man with his own face, a blending

of spirit and hope and final good blessing:

‘Now we can begin to teach thee a lesson.’


The spirit ascended to the unseen skies

and merged with the darkness to disperse darker lies.

From the place where it joined with the high separation,

light emanated outwards...


the beginning of Creation.

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