The Struggle to Rule Begins

(Chapter Poem from The Gypsy Tales)

Not right, Not fair; the “whisperers” agree:
one species to rule with not a contender we must, we shall intervene: gather the seeds from ruling cores for these will test the ultimatum’s hand. Garzalon: transport these entities to the tree, replace the soil with this dust, and return the soil to us; a future experiment to ponder. the Garzalon obeyed as instructed; these particles of cosmic dust were moved through timelines and exchanged with soil of the tree. the tree of knowledge where fruit bends the boughs nearly touch the ground yearning to blossom and share their seeds so new fruit can be sowed: a handful of dust from the cosmic is tossed the Garzalon is patiently waiting on this dust to be united with this fruit. as the fruit falls and blends with dust: new entities grow and populate. oh, the tree of knowledge stretches out; it's boughs turn into wings seeking a source that also reaches out for a new birth: the sky turns pure white. the tree becomes a beautiful angel: each branch an extension of its wings with droplets of enriching life expected: the contenders’ seeds stretch skyward.

a sharp lightning cracks across the sky: too late these protests as fingers of life intermingle. droplets splash over this life expectant and the Garzalon readies its cargo hold. dragons, so many species; lazer’s with talons razor sharp; shadow’s of a human’s evil heart; fairies that capture a tears drop; Nephilim with all their evolutions; carrions consuming death as life; a DNA mix that grows from within. this is what wishes to dominate all life. the Garzalon winces, but complies and heads for the sphere so black that it only appears on a path: six thousand six hundred and six days.

Randy Rowe Copyright 2011;2012

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