Warm Cold Cry

Image by Richard Mcall from Pixabay

I saw the end from the corner of the eye, hosted by November sky.

In the arms of rain, he imbibed beauty and commanded pain with the might of a titan ravenous for revenge.

“Mistress”, his lips parted solemnly in speech, “close my eyes and let be away from life. In this, the chilly embrace of thine, unbound me of bounds lest I rise in battle-cry and warn the heart against the Nightmare White.

“Thou hast been brave, gracious one”, said I, caressing still his pale demise, head betwixt palms, “but releasing you forebodes the rage of the stars. I know your voice, I know your eyes. Return to the pits of reversed night and be clad in tenderness lest you reign upright above the swine.

“Will I know your voice? Will I know your eyes?” wept the knight in manners most gaunt.

“I’ll be the breeze that passes by. Find me in swirls of heartache warm printed in the book of life, buried deep in oceans of time.”

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