The Walker

 

scary woods

At the strike of midnight she

can be found walking around

below the mystic moon.

 

So long ago before such beauty

withered with time her window

opened to the night so brightly

lit from the candle lights glow.

 

Wrapped in silk and flowing white

an outline cast a shadow over her

fate so late where all the beauty

sleeps and dew slowly settles upon

the bone chilling wind swept ground.

 

Oh crier of the night I feel your pain

over tree-tops laughing and frolicking

in the chilling rain that pours over graves

to awaken you from your restlessness.

 

You died before your time spent

here with us and like ghosts the shadows

will always rise and fall over your eternal

resting place amongst the sacred whom

God laid to rest.

 

So my sweet who sleeps so deep while

worms about you creep and seep into

your golden casket so melancholy placed

with my tears that fell on top and forever

left a pool of my dying love for thee.

 

Walk with me when I call your name

amongst the headstones and stately

vaults flung open letting the winged

ravens flutter and scrape their beaks

sharply on the throne placed before us.

 

I hear an echo from afar as chariots

of fire come to greet us taking us through

a portal of triumphant horns that blow

welcoming us to the underworld where

groans within capture and bring us to

her bosom to forever be at peace in

this darkest of dark places alone

quiet and still where we are reunited

with the dead.

 

© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved



Comments

The Walker — 6 Comments

  1. You have such a way with words that beauty is created from things we fear most. You bring the past into the present with grace and a distinctive touch of melancholy that leaves one breathless for more.

    • Thank you Alexandra, I appreciate your keen observation of what I was penning. Its interesting to feel a kindship with the past and the present and how its relation to expression is unique.

    • I’m happy Leslie that my visuals were compelling, a writer as you know wants their readers to feel what the pen. Hugs

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