Knight And The Funeral Pyre
As he pondered of what could have been,
The hopeless knight, finished with the last strength he could spend,
Putting the last touches of the wondrous funeral pyre,
The torch prepared in his hand ready to set ablaze of who he loved and desired,
casting the fiery torch to the ground,
He touched her motionless body and face one last time shouting a cry of such tremendous sound.
Caressing with his fingers the hands, the arms, and shoulders that held him,
Which now are cold and senseless, that used to hold him at every whim,
Her cheeks gray and withdrawn,
the eyes that used to look upon him endlessly, now closed and the brightness of them gone.
What he has left, he bows in prayer hoping to see her lively once more time,
Yet the prayer could not be answered, his heart sinks, knowing that she can no longer be his paradigm.
Slowly he arises to pick up the last of the burning torch,
The last ounce of strength he has granting him to approach,
tossing the torch with lime and tar to start the burn,
Turning to his horse, knows she shall never return,
The smoke giving itself to the heavens,
An omen appears, a raven,
As he arises to his saddle, the raven caws out, with a laugh,
Could it be her? Possibly her love reacquainted with him
with no anger nor wrath,
As he begins his new path, the raven follows looking back,
at the timbers and smoke, it is her! Knowing that she continues with her love for him will never lack.
She lands upon his strong shoulder as they ride on a pathway that will not be journaled or have time and place.
