Thursday, 12th November, 2026.
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• Water.
And they kept on walking.
Without talking.
It was a Skeleton bone, its weight heavy in tons.
Yet they tread briskly, upon the water's surface; unlike the sinking of stones.
Origin unknown, but to itself.
Like an untouched book, on a grand library's shelf.
Foreign; almost alien; as neither drink, nor did they eat.
Yet all that walking, they kept at it.
A robe they wore; like a bard traveling, the lands post war.
Across the globe, carrying Hope.
A weight much heavy, but they'd never let it drop.
Drop by drop, onwards it trickled; the stream of water.
And they followed suit.
Wisdom shone; their eyes Mystique, but warm & nice.
They glimpsed ahead; what past the curve, in wait something lies.
A grand canyon ; alas nothing but a Wasteland.
So still they stood; upon the water's surface, way before that curve.
And set in motion; a sacred ritual.
An aesthetic visual.
A Skeleton plain; on water they danced.
With grace & ability; notably much knowledge in utility.
Step by step, followed a drop by drop.
Fragile but gradual, the water swayed, along with them, and changed its path.
The tempo rose, like a heartbeat rise, gathering waves in tons & spades.
Still they danced; the Skeleton bone.
With movements honed, words fail describe.
A craft backed up, by a thousand years.
Like a Martial Artist, lent a ballerina's grace, keeping pace with ease.
Words fail describe; that we insist, as we narrate.
What we witness; live on scene, before too late.
A' times they looked; like a King or Queen.
Their movements graced, with tangible authority.
Mind streamlined; their mission priority.
To fertile lands; that water flowed.
Within but decades, new life glowed.
In vibrant forests; birds & animals; sang & growled.
New nations rose; & blissfully ignorant; took a prideful pose.
And soon once again; over matters vain;
with their neighborhs clashed.
Blood they spilled; & ruin they wrought; their greed unfulfilled.
Yet pridefully ignorant; still unconscious, of dreadful guilt.
Torn earth all baren, Forests ashes;
Waters trashed & air all poisoned.
Till the lands went bad.
And then they too; were but history goo.
Nature's Wrath; had struck them poor.
And then one day; they walked by.
A Skeleton bone; without any pay.
Save what may be, that some did pray.
Zol Garry they were; that Skeleton bone.
A robe they wore; like a bard traveling, the lands post war.
Anywhere they danced; restored the flow.
Simply walking by; across the Globe.
Carrying Hope.
It was also they; that the book they wrote.
In ciphers old & quite untold.
The First Record.
The Grand Tale, of a Global Scale;
The World's History.
That they watched unfold, as they walked by.
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That's it, my friend, let's bid goodbye.
Because you see, we the Author's got, a lot of works, some put on hold.
And on this quest; to break & digest.
The First Record.
And to find out more; about Zol Garry, the Skeleton bone.
There's much untold.
So with that said, don't hold your breath.
It's already Time.