Halls of the Dark Muse

Deaths Song

A rose drop
reflected in glass
where visions dance
with the soft touch
of moth wings
powered and faultering
firefly light
a first spark
each eye blinking
alternatively

Breathe softly
lips upon gentle petals
a flavor on the tongue
sweetest of nectar

Snow blossoms
unfurl in a show
of crimson
heat against the cold
wind serenading
through the trees

Flush of virgin's breast
a blush like the fire-red
neck of the singing thrush
but can it be called a song
a lone enchantment
beneath the willow
she grieves with beauty

Sorrow and death
never before so vibrant
a silent grave
offers so much more
life tangled within
Avalon's passing mist

Where souls dwell
sipping from the chalice
fed by a vernal spring

Memories mean so little
in long distant halls
a little thing twisting
in a spider's web
awaiting to be
devoured.