We walk on icy roads, alone and lost in the mist, but waiting at the rivers edge is the memory of that we might yet become.
A fierce love guides my listless tongue over the syllables of your name in the ensconced and heavy moonlight. My prayers are prayers whether I pray them or not, and despite my ethereal feeling, i’m more solid than i could imagine.
A heavy hand hangs over our path, and the way is fraught with bitter cold, but follow the long road, winding as it is, and listen for the song that it carries on the wind. If you listen closely to the ceding river, caught along the banks, you may just hear that faerie song that hopes to guide you home.
I’ve lit a candle and hung it in my window, every night since you once parted, but as I wheel this barrow down to the grave of my sweet departed, i just don’t know if anything is enough.
My tears are not enough consolation to the thirsty lips of a dying heart, and memory is a bittersweet elixir when taken lightly. Nobody, a single voice cries out from a blinded world, nobody did this to me. Would that we might say the same, but we’re bonded to the same dark night, and the same old road beckons us to take another weakened step.
I’ll pray for your blue eyes and their moonlight. I’ll send up a litany against fear, and as they rise like like ashes from a cindered pyre I hope this little light might guide you home.
I’d spend a thousand days, weeping and writing in the orchards if the softest memory of where I belong would grace my waiting face. But your dark hair is nowhere to be seen. As your weeping heart courts darkness, i pray it does not court the end.
And if your wandering heart, cannot bear another moment in the mist, keep walking, and listening to that somber song, which I know will guide you home.