The Lovers by Sonya Borsch

The days go by
but the road continues its way. I went to the south through the mountain ranges to see the one who is making songs. The tower fell many moons ago. We lost each other in the billions of unknown voices. The lands were torn and shift again. The keepers of the compasses became the oracles, collecting voices and lay the way for tower to be built again, an everlasting dream. But I am looking for one who lived a long time ago before the towers started to come up from earth to sky; in his hand the secret of the end of way was kept. And I prepare a pray to him, for finding the one that have been lost, and to regain the ruined one. In our blood it’s two for one, and one is symbol of the death. I lost my part in hurricane of voices, and now begin to keep the flag of endless war, destruction and the ruin. We, who once were treated as gods, in moment turned into nightmare beasts in eye of lords and priests. But way of mine lay through the ash and fear, to find the one who lived before the time and singing songs of what have been and what become.