by Garreth Heidt
Nothing is as we thought it would be at age 9
When simple graph paper became home to wizards
Wyverns, giant centipedes, orcs.
When the roll of dice crafted Paladins , Clerics, Thieves
And our minds leapt to fill the blanks in story lines
Half-crafted and open just enough to
Insert action here;
When the world was a mere saving throw away from falling
Into a portable hole.
Now, nothing is as we imagined…
All life hinged upon a sleep spell
And the breath of a silver dragon.
Nothing is gone, only misplaced
There’s a chance, you see,
There’s a chance riding on a quantum of light
That you are crafting that sword of watered steel,
That I am immersed in the arcane,
A chance that the party is just beyond the crossing…
That the light hasn’t fallen here, for the last time.