Towards the Dawn
Where flowers bloom in bones of dead
A dark faced lord walks up the hill
On a narrow path that looks like a scar
On a misty heaven, somber and still.
Far away hangs the unripe sun
Somewhere in valley a rivulet moans
With damp hair and weakening knees
This stately stranger walks alone.
Heavy eyelids with tears impearled,
And a heart heavier like a severed limb..
But yet not dead, still bleeding love
For the enchantress who undid him.
How paths undulated, how destinies interlocked
How calmly he weathered each fierce storm
So today let winds hush….. to let him pass
Through cold blind agony…towards the dawn.
© Copyright 2016 Azaleas secrets. All rights reserved.
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