Born in death, half-dead in life,
Existence but a shadow.
My eyes behold such majesty,
But all I see is sorrow.
What have I done? What heinous deed,
Demanding such a price?
But all the same, am I to blame?
A thousand times and thrice.
But then, behold, the sky looks down;
A melody of kindness.
He shows me love, hope, joy, and peace;
He tells me where to find this.
But then the night with rusted blade
Strikes down the valiant sky.
A piercing wound we both receive,
Let out one dying cry.
My friend, my brother, dying here;
The setting sun glows bright.
Though strong without, I die within,
Then falls eternal night.
Yet as the shining moon wards of
The deathly, darkened night,
The oak, with wooden key in hand,
Unlocks the gate of light.
A mended wound, a life preserved,
A traitor's debt repaid.
The moon, though brave, sheds tears of grief.
The oak is gone away.
The sky within me lives the same
As he had done before.
Adventures, many we have shared,
I hope we still have more.
But now is not the time quite yet.
In silence, we must wait.
Very soon it all will end,
This dark, eternal fate.
Eternity within a moment,
A voice without a sound,
A shivering cold, a seamless dark,
Yet nothing all around.
He nor I can stay for long;
The lasting light is running.
An ancient shadow stirs once more,
For lo, a storm is coming.
YOU ARE READING
Whispered Songs
PoetryA collection of poems, most of them telling stories. Tales of worlds beyond, as well as stories of the plain beauty of that which we know.
