The Wile
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out in the potter’s field
‘tween the pitch pine trees
the Wile approached

imbued with the shining hues of the outback
its heavens temperate and still and teeming with vitality
in one ear came the footfalls
and out the other a bright blue fluid the color of sky

the townspeople would paint themselves in it
until they were blue and beaming under the sun
adorned with crowns of gold and Scarlet
the Paleman had never been welcome among them

they had exiled him long ago
he was unsatisfactory
cut down at his knees like a tree
rooted to only a seat leather and steel

the Wile, as mighty as it was frivolous
captivated the people lining the streets
they looked onward in hopes of speaking with the leviathan
its words of wisdom seldom bestowed on mortal ears

from his waning shack in the hills
the Paleman gazed at the crowds
and the parades
and the festivities

even now towards the horizon
the towering Wile inched forward
its gaunt legs stretching up into the sky
where it stuck into the red and black and white

streaks of fur over skin, gold over fur
brilliant spindly branches counting its tributes
the colossal center of the baron lost above the highest of clouds
moving with intent and with aim

concise, calculated strides
pushing forward on an annual trek to the sea
its reasons unclear to most
its origin utterly unknown

it would surely speak to the people in the city below
receiving their gifts and offering praise and good tidings in return
they would dress themselves in their fakest of smiles and finest of clothes
and exchange nothing more than pleasantries
they cared not for the true nature the world
they cared not for the Paleman

finally it had passed the orchards
its eyes taking in every bit of tedious minutia
pondering deep implications and stories with each saccade

it would never say, but it knew more of the townspeople than they did
all by virtue of simply looking, nothing went unnoticed

not even the Paleman

the townspeople could do nothing but speculate
as to the reason this being paid them no attention
and ascended up the hill to the Paleman
the bane of the city's prestigious way of life

and yet, their arrogance had not gone unnoticed
nor had their animosity, their carelessness
their greed, or their ignorance

and so
the Wile spoke to the Paleman
of his troubles
of his seclusion in his waning shack

the Wile was not pleased
but perhaps it could right the townspeople's wrongs
it could take the Paleman
and show him the wonders of the world

the unfathomable, glorious intricacies of creation
from the waterfalls of Ke'al to the factories in the sand dunes
great monoliths, permanent effigies from unknown old ones
The Great Way of Nomengied

it was in his potential
that the Wile, the messenger of The Hum
would take the Paleman under its wing
and bring him to places never scorned

places made to be done without being
in being undone, so as never to be
beneath the folds of the rushing world
under the heart of The Library

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