after the end, comes rememberance...
in this first part, the hermit prince, Arl of Azahrin, begins to remember...
a greyness falls from the sky;
it winds through a dale,
and wends through a vale;
passing from a berg's misty weave
to the crags of a goblin's bay,
gathering the shadows of day,
merging them into the thick shade of eve...
...a wind marauds across a weeded edge,
passing as a cold ache
through the reeds of a dragon's lake,
haunting the things of breath,
carrying in its icy rake
the rememberance of death...
...the wind crosses a crag
climbs a rise,
and reaches the bole
of an oaken hag;
there, beneath her amber leaves
lies the one who grieves...
alone he lies -
sprawled upon a grassless dearth
of rainwashed earth;
he quivers beneath falling sighs;
he trembles above darkening dreams;
tears well in his unseeing eyes
and fall across his face as wild streams...
...not far from the oaken hag,
near a sleeping stag;
in the nook of parting rills,
stands a line of daffodils;
in the shade of a silver lind
they sway in the wind,
leaning towards the sufferer
each, like a shy eavesdropper;
nodding their heads about,
each, lost in a mist of doubt;
peering through an elven creeper,
each, inquiring of their neighbour
for even a part of the whole
as to what ails the fallen soul ! ...
Poetry by INDRAN REDDY
Read 900 times
Written on 2005-10-24 at 06:17
Tags Sorrow
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in this first part, the hermit prince, Arl of Azahrin, begins to remember...
after the end - part one
a greyness falls from the sky;
it winds through a dale,
and wends through a vale;
passing from a berg's misty weave
to the crags of a goblin's bay,
gathering the shadows of day,
merging them into the thick shade of eve...
...a wind marauds across a weeded edge,
passing as a cold ache
through the reeds of a dragon's lake,
haunting the things of breath,
carrying in its icy rake
the rememberance of death...
...the wind crosses a crag
climbs a rise,
and reaches the bole
of an oaken hag;
there, beneath her amber leaves
lies the one who grieves...
alone he lies -
sprawled upon a grassless dearth
of rainwashed earth;
he quivers beneath falling sighs;
he trembles above darkening dreams;
tears well in his unseeing eyes
and fall across his face as wild streams...
...not far from the oaken hag,
near a sleeping stag;
in the nook of parting rills,
stands a line of daffodils;
in the shade of a silver lind
they sway in the wind,
leaning towards the sufferer
each, like a shy eavesdropper;
nodding their heads about,
each, lost in a mist of doubt;
peering through an elven creeper,
each, inquiring of their neighbour
for even a part of the whole
as to what ails the fallen soul ! ...
Poetry by INDRAN REDDY
Read 900 times
Written on 2005-10-24 at 06:17
Tags Sorrow
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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