Soil and Blood, Stone and light
Cometh the eve, cometh the stranger,
Upon winds o’er the feather and tail
flesh did splinter that great oak, a venture
To remove ones shroud, ones veil.
Shadows bent and limbered across the walls,
To wait and see wood and splinters strength.
Flesh griped and dragged, those old halls,
That thrum with the heat of that hearth.
How can stone in its permanence, forget?
Where once the light danced and lightened,
Now only knows of the dark night,
And shuns the dawns northern light.
How can stone in its permanence, forget?
The riverrun of these cold halls,
Once knew the warmth of my blood,
A battered bride knows no solace but death.
Thrice the fist hits, a womans shrill,
Slides up the nocks, a ladder bent to
Know my value, copper or iron, the price was paid,
But stone forgets far easier than oak.
Flesh morphs so well, not like the permanence
Of wood or stone. Thy flesh observed nigh of
That flame, twisted and gnarled, until
A friend became a foe– thrice.
