At The Advent Of A Dream Poem by Steven Rodgers

At the advent of a dream,  
Ripped from pages of the glow,
The rapture of the angel beam,
Sent to warm the hearts below.
To soiled and decrepit souls,
Clad in wretched poverty,
Who've shed the blood in toiled tolls,
And cried in sacred enmity. 

And fore upon the worthless brood,
Who swore in fallen amnesty,
To ne'er forsake the tempered mood,
To shape the world serenity. 
Was shaken by the humble sprites,
And lost in hope of purity,
When day shall fall to darkened nights,
And loose the bind of gravity. 

So the story ever goes,
The only story worth the write,
The story every person knows,
Of the loss after the fight.
But take it from a seasoned heart,
The sequel is a better read,
And carries through right from the start,
Triumphant is the steady lead.