I walk among the path of broken stones
Of ancient runes once tall and bright.
The sighing of the wind blows through
Dead trees that grows no more
A dead city in a vast wasteland
Of tall grass and protruding rocks.
A dark fascination takes hold of me
Gripping me into the heart of darkness
And pulling me closer to a ruined
Building with a crumbling dome.
My heart flutters in my chest, my breath
Catches as I draw closer. The entrance arched
I enter. O what beauty that was here but now dissipated
In centuries past. Faint chants of rituals ring in the stale air
As I approach a throne of arcane powers. Resting on
The mighty chair, lies the slumbering King of yellow cloths his
Face forever wrapped. Destiny will once again awaken the
Mighty King from his death like sleep.
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