Halls of the Dark Muse

The Death of a Swan

Stolen waters frozen in time
by winters breath
chilled tombs
the houses of the dead
beauty found among the graves
rigid they stand in the wake

But a hush
with ghost like appeal
in the way the feathers dance
corpse like elegance
for the ones that are
symbols of romance

Gentle are the leaves
that scatter adrift upon the water
where reflections gaze back
with the eyes of the moon
and death

But to embrace
this sweet darkness
feel the pulse it offers
here there dwells the deep
true soul.