I walk this beaten path of wood and stone.

‘Tis not a ghost nor creature I am known.

Her golden hair and eyes of fire imbue.

Time rests upon the castle birds unflown.

I share with her the mist of morning gray,

Of dark and ceaseless winds of pure dismay.

From withered, lifeless skin, the blood be mourned.

To love her once more upon death’s new day.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s