Bright stars at night remember when,
The gift of power in man was born,
As fur-clad ancient hunters roamed,
An Earth by frozen glaciers torn.

The epoch past had seen the fall,
Of gifted races,
One and all.

Their thoughts in power's price unschooled,
When melded minds as one became,
The gifted ones the stars had ruled.

Once thought and action were the same,
The Age of Chaos earned its name.
Life flickered like a candle flame.

When Keepers failed to heal the rift,
The conflict born of power's gift,
Did amongst the stars like fire drift.

The battle for the gift of power,
Defiled
All it did not devour.

Then vanished gifted ones became,
Accursed,
By their very name.

As ages came and aeons went,
Generations unborn,
Saw their lives spent.

And memory began to fade,
Like grass,
Turned to a withered blade.

Now in the endless night of space,
The stars alone know what took place,
When man became the last gifted race.


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Author's Note: This ancient poem is the lead-in to my new novel "Gift of Power."

It is the prologue to the prologue.

Archaeologists unearthed this enigmatic piece during their excavation of the great Keeper civilization's fortress of K'Tara, on Xantar Prime. It is written by a long-departed Keeper poet named Olar Roenstar, who lived during the violent last years of the Age of Chaos.

The prologue and first chapter of Gift of Power are posted for those interested in learning more about this forgotten epoch in galactic history.

2008 © Olaf E. Roennspiess

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