Vapours Gather

With the fewest surround
Falling
Autumnal exit being a friend
A voice, chilling
Truth is taken as insult
Threats are the choice

A chimera I live with
Sitting upon, growing
Whistle through like Nordic wind
Chill rising from the soil

The pain that seems to flow of this place
Tears, tears of the eyes so cold
A flow to take you away
So clear, yet hidden
Hidden of the pain you push to me

This well, this region, that of no darker depths than we both conceal
Vapours gather, from whence none knows
The voice chills once more
Afore to a journey to the stars
Alba, loner a force upon once again
Soaring with shattered alae; ocreal
A sheath of charred inert soul my saviour.

Ian V. Seymour 2012

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